Solitaire was bound and determined to be of use here, to show that this was indeed where he belonged. That he was a good brother, and he wanted to stick with his family -- what he had left, what of it wanted him still -- and be there for them. Certainly for Tristan, who had welcomed him back with open paws. The thought of having found his brother again after so long warmed him, as did the fact that he had finally been able and ready to return home, now was part of the pack and trying to go for a task. The first one he had wanted was a no-go, but that was okay. He had another one that had settled to his mind.

Lately, he had been doing his best to dredge up memories of when he had been taken away by the vagabonds, because even as bad as all that had been for him, they had taught him good skills to know (though he wasn't the aim of being taught those things). Solitaire had watched them as they mended the wounded and tended the sick, because it did happen often enough back then. They went on missions that could be harmful, or those who tried to escape were beaten and needed to be mended to be put back to work. Solitaire had been trying to remember how to be a healer from what he had learned.

He had been collecting plants that he could bring up the uses for within his mind, and the hollowed out log he had found had made a good thing to carry around those plants. He had healed up the wound above his eye and at his shoulder with what he remembered, and now he wanted to make sure that Tristan was doing alright. Hopefully his brother had already gone to a healer to have it looked at, but nothing wrong with getting a checkup afterwards, right? Plus it was Solitaire's brother, and he was still concerned. After some walking with pulling his log, he paused to call out for his brother, then waited.

[ male ] [ seven ] [ unmated ] [ imprint; striker ] [ glorall ]