Today was one of those days where the brothers drifted off from one another to do their own things. It was on days like today that Viserion often drifted down into the lowlands that bordered their home. Whereas his brother Rhaegal enjoyed the adventure and danger of scaling the highest peaks, Viserion like the allure of the edges of their home. He did not run the borders like their Uncle Sleekwing did, instead he simply meandered through the foothills. Ever since the day that his mother had allowed him to be the one to greet Ambrosia, he'd taken a liking to the art form of diplomacy. Meeting with and exchanging conversation and knowledge with friends of the pack seemed like a good role for him, and as his golden paws sifted through the grassy knolls of the lowlands he wondered if maybe he should become a Seneschal. His mother had made four choices available to the now yearlings of the pack - crone for those who wished to heal or look after young ones; liege for those who like to scout, hunt, or defend; seneschal for those interested in being consuls for the pack; or apprentice for those undecided or that wished to learn more than one. It seemed like a big choice to many of the young wolves of the pack, but Viserion knew that if he changed his mind later it would be allowed. Still, he preferred to thoroughly think things through before making a choice.

His nose twitched as he went along, climbing and descending the sloping hills of this lower quadrant of the pack lands. White backed ears swiveled atop his head, and the black of his nostrils flared suddenly as he caught a scent he'd only smelt once before. Eyes rimmed in white searched the borders, not so far off now, and finally he spotted a black and white wolf who had crossed into the mountain realm. Eager to receive him, Viserion set off at a jog, making his way towards the boy who he figured from his size had to be about the same age as him. "Hello there," he called out, his voice friendly as his tail brushed back and forth along his hind legs. It would seem that his siblings used up all the dominance born in their litter, for the golden child was not the least bit concerned with such a thing. Knowledge, logic, wisdom; these were the things that held importance for the blonde son of Daenerys. Where he had got it, and his coloration, from was a wonder even to his mother.

Viserion knew that he was from an allied pack, and his experiences had taught him that allies of Spirane were welcome within the realm. So rather than create some blockade like Drogon might have done, he with the molten eyes only sought to fall into step with the newcomer. "You're from Taviora, are you not?" He blinked a couple times, scenting the air once more to try to figure out why he smelled so familiar. There had been only one pup at the storytelling last fall from an allied pack, and it was more than just the pine scent upon her that Viserion recalled now as he walked side by side with this boy. He wondered then if they were maybe siblings? He almost asked, but then decided against it, saving that little detail for later, depending on his reaction to the prince's presence. "I'm Viserion, what is your name?"