The smile that alighted upon her face made Rhaegal’s tail lash back and forth with excitement. All this time he had done his very best to remain as professional as possible in handling the arrival of a stranger in his home. But now his enthusiasm began to bubble over as he danced back and forth between his forepaws. Black ears twitched to and fro and finally he figured the only way to settle himself and not look quite so much like a puppy was to sit down. So he promptly plopped his hindquarters down and stared into Sorcha’s face as she regaled the tale of Brawm.

When she described the golden female who so tempted Brawm that he left his mate and pack behind, Rhaegal wrinkled his nose. The white teardrop between his eyes became distorted, the skin pressing it into the point of his chocolate widow’s peak. No self respecting King would just leave his pack! What a bad choice this wolf Brawm had made, Rhaegal knew it. Though his tail had finally come to a rest during the introduction of Sorcha’s story, when she spoke of Brawm’s foolish choice it thumped once against the ground. Something bad was going to happen to him – or it better! But then Lyra fell for his dirty tricks and Rhaegal’s nose curled again. It was the battle between he and his mate’s father that made the young prince’s eyes grow wide with disbelief. He wanted to ask why Lyra hadn’t helped her father – if he’d had a father and some wolf came to harm him, Rhaegal wouldn’t have just stood by and let it happen. His brow furrowed at the thought.

Finally, Brawm got what was coming to him, and softly the painted child’s tail began to wag once more. He was about to ask why Lyra hadn’t tried to help her father when his dark ears flicked backwards and he realized they were no longer alone. He’d let his guard down, gotten so distracted by her story that he hadn’t even smelled this other wolf. He stood up quickly, eyes flashed over to the wolf – only to find his mother approaching. Rhaegal didn’t even have time to feel guilty for not realizing she was there; she promptly stepped forward and placed a mortifying lick across his brunette crown. “Mooom,” he groaned under his breath, slowly recoiling from her until he was free. He stumbled back a few steps and found himself standing at Sorcha’s side, and decided to try to make that look intentional as his mother greeted her.

Composing himself he stood up tall and gave Daenerys a rather pointed, earnest look. He was the one who had first met Sorcha, so he should be the one to do the introductions, shouldn’t he? With his mother’s nod he took a half step forward. “Sorcha, this is – Daenerys,” it still didn’t feel exactly natural to call her by her name rather than just ‘mom,’ “Mountainborn, Queen of Spirane and Protector of the Realm.” He was forgetting something, he just knew it. “Of the blood of old Solevion!” he added quickly. “Daenerys, this is Sorcha, from the Windellands. She has offered to tell stories here in Spirane if you would allow her to stay. She tells really good stories, mom,” he said, finally slipping up, but his mother simply smiled and spoke to Sorcha. When she shot him a playful glare he lowered his head just a little bit and turned it back to look up sheepishly at Sorcha, his tail beginning to wag once more. Daenerys was inviting her to stay, which meant more stories, and maybe sometime he could ask her about why Lyra hadn’t fought for her father.