The jest my Mother gives has me glancing sideways at her. She had to be rather uncomfortable in this situation, more so than she had ever been. Being close to my Father, I knew my Mother perhaps better than any of my siblings ever did, and ever would. Stress would certainly be present, as well as anxiety and a certain nervousness, and I did not wish to strain her any more than was needed. And so the comment goes unhindered, for while I could have reacted badly, or any certain way, I do not. Instead, I give her a simple, half-hearted grin of the best intentions as we made our way. I would not pry and I would not meddle in affairs that don't exactly belong to me.

I could tell, though, that with the slight change in our direction she had chosen their den. Part of me felt relieved at the notion, and another felt curious. I would not mind being present for their reunion, but instinct told me to stay well clear of any such happening. Their time was their own, just as mine was my own, and we would each have our turns. When it was I had decided to take our rest once safe within Taviora, I feel my features take on a gladdened expression when my Mother takes a seat. She is too determined to become too relaxed here, this I know, and as I watch her search for words, I am intruiged. We have had minimal time together, but I love her all the same, and would give her any time of day that she ever asked me.

My name is spoken with uncertanity, as if she is still searching and yet she wants to give me something. Anything at all. A thank you is what she does give, and, with a gentle dip of my creme and offwhite marked skull, I am moving forward to find my place beside her, my paleness melting against her warm, fiery tones. I seek to comfort her in these moments, just before whomever might arrive arrives, reaching beneath her chin with my own to nudge upwards with my creme ears laced back against my skull. I feel but a small child now, bent over beneath her in such an embrace, and it feels as though years have been shed and we are both young again. But time may never stand still, and as I pull away with my slight height on her, I watch her fondly with dark violet eyes, voice hushed and laced thick with some kind of emotion, just for her. "Thank you for coming home."

The spell is broken when the Shaman of Taviora makes her appearance, my eyes moving instantly to her graceful movement, even in her age. The heart and soul of Coszcotl was truly a magnificent wolf, one with great skill and wisdom and love offered to all. I have never known her personally, but I have always made it my point to know the wolves within Taviora regardless. And of any of them, she would be the one I have learned the most from, aside from Father, of course. Moth is quick to access the situation, first asking myself if I am in pain, to which I give her a simple and polite "No" for I know there is no reason for me to point out the obvious. She moves to my Mother with ease and no sense of rush, and as her questions are for the red wolf, I fall into my silence. There is no need to get in the way or hinder anyones duty. If I was needed, I would be here and heed the call- though there is a certain saving grace when my Uncle of sorts shows up not long after his Shaman.

Words are given to my Mother, words of concern and love and I know in this that she will always be safe, always taken care of here. They are as much her family as I am, though I may be blood, and I take comfort to know that she will be safe. When I turn to Coszcotl, making my way to his side to take a seat, I think of my brother and how no one was there to keep him safe. Siren, his soul, had been there, and though she did not save him she took the life of the one who had taken his own. It gave me a strange comfort, to know that the one who had murdered my brother lay in the dirt herself, just as my dear Roamin did. But thoughts of him are not for now, not for here, and yet when my dark gaze finds the light that is Coszcotl's there is a sadness there that I know matches only that of my Father. Though he has lost a son, I have lost a littermate, one who I had shared the womb with. Out of the three of us, he and I had remained, and now we were only one; only I. I did not know where my other sister, Mireille, had gone to, and though I wondered, one could only spend so much time doing so.

My mind must be present for the here and now, so with a slight shake to my skull I refocus and lean in to give soft words to my leader, my Uncle, my friend, much as he was my Father's own. "She does not yet know, and I know not if I can tell her.." Although it pains me to admit, there is a slight plea in my voice; I can bear my pain, but I hardly know if I can bare my Mothers. I do not ask Coszcotl lightly, but if he would not wish it I would understand and I would do what I must. Tones were kept low enough, and thoughts were hopefully distracted enough so that any side conversation between Coza and I would go unnoticed, and though I watched my Mother with concern in my gaze, I knew there was much to be done from this and about this. While some held the notion that life was simple, and that life was happy and carefree; they were so horribly, terribly incorrect that they could not even begin to possibly understand. But that was their thoughts, their choice, their destiny, and as it werre, we each had a path all our own.