Swallowbane checks frequently on his younger sister, if she was aware of it or not. Most of the time it was simply from his spot on the mountains, the spot that the beast slept in by night and watched from by day. The spot that had kept him so carefully tucked away from everything and yet in the center of everything. The reason that he knew every member of this pack by sight and scent but not name or creed. Yes, it was the spot that he made sure everything stayed safe from. A sort of guardian angel that sat among the mountains. He thinks fleetingly of the angels, of his darling dancer with the blood of heaven in her veins, and he aches.

But he watches his sister’s den as Jericho enters, visiting as it seems he often does. Taliesin follows, and Bane’s eyes narrow. No one seems to be coming out, and yet… oop, there it was. His so-called brother was yelling, and joyfully at that, but it set Bane’s hackles on end. What a noisy child. There was no reason to be yelling, and it was enough to set his flecked eyes in a sour glare. Honestly what the hell was his pro—oh. Not problem. It had taken the elder a few minutes to put it together, but there it was.

Stiffly, he moves down from the mountain. There was no panic in the sound of any party, but Bane takes a small clutch of root (thanks to Niviaq’s teaching) from the stores just in case. Better to be safe than sorry, just in case anything cropped up with time. A gentle gait across the ground as he makes his way to see his younger sister, unceremoniously poking his head into the den upon arrival. Social skills, in his world, weren’t something deemed necessary. Sure, when he was with strangers, it was different. This was family.

“How are you feeling, Daenerys?” A quiet question, disregarding the other inhabitants of the den. Eyes briefly on the children, just… looking.