Being kicked out felt awful and refreshing at the same time. Tychon was angry at Arthfael’s obnoxious punch and slightly hurt to have been forced from the den he’d slept in for the past months. At the same time, he was rid of a terrible den-mate and felt that finally, after Daenerys made him stay in Spirane, someone had been honest with him. He strode then, assuming he was no longer an inmate, towards the border of the mountains. He wove down the paths towards Aplos Riverside, which he had an affinity too. He met the pipsqueak Masque there a year ago, and was eager to meet her again.

His journey down the mountain was easy; his leg healed well and was no longer atrophied. He could have almost forgotten his mutilated face, but the cold air bit at the open gap and chilled his teeth and gums. Tychon swiped his tongue over the exposed fangs to keep them warm and to pull in drool that constantly pooled out between his dentals. Ducking under a low-hanging pine branch, Tychon tilted his head to the right so that the sharp needles wouldn’t rip at his gums - He’d done that once. It stung worse than a army of bee stings.

He felt as if he had boundless energy as he descended the mountain because of the more concentrated oxygen of lower elevations. It gave him cause enough to lope to try and expend the unnatural giddiness of his muscles. When he heard powerful roar of water rushing over stone and down the cliffs, Tychon’s tail waved, knowing he was getting close to his destination. He hopped to a walk when laid eyes on the point where the rushing cataracts became the wide, easy flowing river of Aplos. He paused at the top of the last descent to observe the lowest point of Spirane’s territory.

There was a wolf! His amber eyes witnessed only the grand leap of larger gray wolf before they disappeared into the deep water. Tychon’s ears flattened, thinking for a moment Spirane had a trespasser until the head resurfaced. Daenerys?! Tychon’s eyes flitter to the side and he took a step backwards. He figured he’d just leave, but see her there at the point of his exit made him reluctant to pursue the free lands. But he had too, didn’t he? He hadn’t been invited to stay.

Tychon shook his multi-brown colored fur in irritation at his shyness. Defiantly, he marched down the mountain to the river. He probably could have just run past her; she wouldn’t have been able to get to the water’s edge quickly enough to stop him… And maybe that was why he approached. He looked irritably at the water and waded through it out to the edge of the shallow where it dropped off into an abyss - to where Daenerys was swimming comfortably. Tychon was jealous. He could never swim again; he’d assuredly drown because his lips couldn’t keep water out of his throat.

“Daenerys,” Tychon barked, but when he had her attention and felt her mahogany eyes on him, he felt less bold, and his voice gained meekness when he continued, “I’m… um. I spent a while with Spirane, so…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Despite himself - and every wolf in Spirane - he’d enjoyed the comfort of pack life. It’d been the first winter he hadn’t felt on the edge of starvation every day. Did that make him weak for not wanting to return to loner life?