Solitaire had met Viora, and he had told himself he would not take any crap from her. If she was bitter, then that was not his problem. He would be there for her as a brother if she were to want that, because family was important to him, but he would not allow her to use him as any kind of doormat or beating post. It was funny that it would be her to bring out the stubborn, no-nonsense side of himself. It had shaken him from his shell, from the nervous shyness he had been holding onto all this time. He knew his own story, and she would not try to tell him otherwise. If she wanted to weave things to her own ideas, that was on her, and Solitaire wanted no part in that. She could build her walls up to try and protect herself by whatever means she wanted, but it didn't change the truth. He was there for her, but he wouldn't let her walk on him.

That, however, was not the thing on his mind right now. Solitaire wanted to have a real place here, a real meaning within the pack. Being a healer would do that, would give him a place where it couldn't be said he did not belong. And it was a good thing to do, and he could help his brother and any of the others in need with the skills. Which was the point for today. After his call for Tristan, he heard his brother call back and he smiled. It never failed to make him happy to know his brother was close by. Upon Tristan's arrival he does se the way his brother still favors the leg, and he peers at the wound there. Possibly infected. "I've decided to take up healing, brother." He announced, then walked around to eye the wound closer. "And I think that is a little infected.. Would you let me put some thyme on it to draw any infection out?" He asked, peering at his brother.

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