He pretended he was interested in the landscape, but he honestly hadn’t been observing any of it. Discontent in Spirane, he was growing restless with the paranoia he felt that wolves were avoiding him. Not that he cared… So Tychon made himself busy by hunting or patrolling or whatever it was he’d been doing staring into the glassy pond at his paws. The sound of the howl caused Tychon’s ears to stiffen upwards and pause in his exploration of the blank water. He pivoted his head in recognition of the sound. Dad, Tychon thought, and then returned his gaze doubtfully to the water at his paws while his gaze shifted from side to side.

What was he going to do? Shame attacked Tychon like a rabid racoon. On his own, he failed miserably. Kept himself barely fed, got himself nearly killed, and then got stolen by a twat. Tychon scraped a paw into the ground, and cursed at his father. Well, if the jerk was going to be ashamed of him and belittle him, then let him. Tychon wasn’t looking to be cuddled for his mistakes. He stood and strode down the mountainside, towards Nathaniel’s location.

Tychon paused at the top of the trail when his father was in sight. His nose flared at Dad’s scent and as a result, the exposed teeth and gums of the right side of his face shriveled together to make him look furious even though he wasn’t. Tychon hadn’t been a handsome wolf ever, but now with the montrous scar and constant need to lick in slobber, he wasn’t far removed from being hideous. The feature that gave away his uncertain, but resigned attitude, were his black serrated, amber eyes. They seemed to waver slightly when he took a moment to gauge his father’s reaction to the mutilation of his face.

Tychon couldn’t bring himself to step closer to Nathaniel, but he greeted stoically, “S’been awhile, Pop…”