Tychon, for once in a long while, returned to his dusty den in the nucleus of Spirane. He usually slept in odd shelters around the mountain peaks or foothills while he continuously looped through his scouting paths. However, after the meeting with Kalseru, he decided he’d take the time to maintain his den since it was convenient. It was the den he’d hastily selected after Arthfael had driven him out of his den years ago now. Tychon had meant to pick a different one, but simply never had, and this hole barely large enough for him had become his. Invested in the small den now, it left Tychon’s mind to dig out a different one.

Arthfael and he hadn’t much to do with each other since. Tychon was still holding a grudge against being kicked out while he was sleeping. Why couldn’t that have waited until he woke up?! Since, Tychon only saw Arthfael around, gathering prey, and bringing it back to the pack. Tychon saw him a few times watching Vesta from a distance and one tailing her. He supposed they were probably friends. Tychon hadn’t met the young female, but he knew what she looked like and where her den was. He knew a lot of weird crap now that he was scouting all the time. He felt like the resident Spirane stalker, knowing different pack mate’s preferred trails of leaving, returning, sightseeing, and living. Not that he actively sought o know those things, but after years on the job, he’d just sort of… absorbed the information.

As Tychon scrapped out damp moss and negligible feathers and reeds, he made soft grunting-pig noises, unmuffled because of his lost lip, but not loud because of his crushed voice box. He’d have been entirely consumed by his work if he had been afforded the normal vocalizations of effort, but he heard from the trees pebbled tumbled down the rock path. Holding a wad of moss in his mouth, Tychon scooted backwards out of the den to see who was coming by - it was a bad habit he developed after being on the boarder to often. It was his job to know who was around.