Once more, he had settled into a familiar routine. Arturio was an honest, capable leader, and for that, Viserys could not be more thankful. It had given him great anxiety to be uncertain of the future of his home, but he supposed that Arturio made more of an appearance than his brother had, regardless. There was no family tie, not this time, but still the pale wolf was content enough with what the Arthur's tenure might bring to them. Underneath his rule, however, there was much more time for family-- and days like today, when he walked shoulder-to-should with his love, were not very uncommon. The springtime had put a pep in his step, his hindquarters feeling limber from the continually warm weather. Viserys grinned over at his mate, forgetting his worries and troubles for a time, and enjoying the bright spring day.
His children had always been of great concern to him, but it seemed as though they were doing just fine. He was, admittedly, scouting a bit to see if he could find out where Xerxes had gone-- but the boy was old enough, now, to be on his own. It was during this cycle of thoughts that the boy's scent trail drifted past his nose, old by a day or so. But there was another scent. A scent that he, as a healer, knew awfully well. His ears flattened against his skull as he scanned the area, his eyes moving down the treeline. In the distance he spotted an unmoving lump of pale cream, and his heart seemed to stop.
Viserys wavered, hovering between moving and not moving, between knowing and not knowing. If he turned around and left, would Xerxes come home in a few days, a bit more worldly but none the worse for wear? Everything around him seemed to move in a blur, and he couldn't tell what Ankh had done or if she'd said anything-- he was trapped, it felt like, by great big vines around his ankles. He struggled against them and began to move, slowly at first. But the pale wolf did not want to know. He was a lost prince, a healer, a lover, a philosopher-- but a father, first. Had he truly failed so greatly?