His sister had gone for a walk in the freelands recently, so he wondered what was stopping him. Nothing. That was the answer, perhaps he would have an actually angry mother to answer too once he returned, but it wouldn’t be so bad knowing it was coming. There was little the lucid child didn’t know though or expect. Even at his tender age he clung to information, words like nothing else. He learned things at a rate that was alarming, but also made his mother very proud. He apparently took after his grandsire, Pan. He never knew the man, but often his mother commented on how, personality wise, Faust reminded her of him it was… interesting. Was personality part of genetics? Why then did this intelligence hop his mother, and apparently almost all of his aunts and uncles and impart itself upon him? Why was he the one he got it? All the things to test… to understand. Eventually he thought he should meet all his family that was scattered across land and explore this for himself and decide for himself how intelligent the family was thanks to his grandfather’s genes, but today he was just seeing something new.
After all you could only walk the same mountain paths so many times before you grew terribly bored of them. He could notice a newly grown leaf or a strange paw print on the trails he walked around the pack with how often he frequented them. His mother said they would not be staying for much longer, and while he certainly didn’t dislike the homeland of their family Faust was excited at the prospects at being able to go over eleven other lands he had yet to explore or even look at other than from the vantage of the mountain’s heights. There was much more than just the lands to learn though. Of wolves, of their stories and what was going on. There was a mountain of information he knew he didn’t know just yet and he wanted to know it all.
He walked through the forest with keen golden eyes. Running over the details of each tree, their shape, their similarities and differences from what he already knew as well as the animals that also were around here. Many more scents and of many more varieties also were out here. He could smell the scent of Taviora wolves here probably the most, but there were other pack scents he was yet to be familiar with. It annoyed him that he didn’t know to which the scents belonged but someday soon he would be changing that. It was with luck that he came across one such unfamiliar scent though it didn’t seem to have any particular smell clinging to it like those he assumed were of packs. He followed the trail a ways before he spotted s smaller sized male, looked young, younger than his mother, but older than him. HIs build still wasn’t quite full, he could tell that, but it was nearly there, he looked a bit travel worn but no worse for wear. He was doing well out here by the looks of him.
”Hello, wolf of the free lands!” Faust called out to him, ”I have noticed you are sitting here alone, staring at what seems to be a normal patch of ground. I see no unique properties which need to be studied about this patch of ground other than I have found a wolf staring at it as if it has insulted him. Which I know cannot be the case, as the ground cannot speak. So why are you staring at the ground. Is your head okay? Your eyes? I have heard of wolves that are not all right in the head sounds like a horrible way to be. Blindness I think wouldn’t be so bad, but not being able to see would also be rather infuriating when there is so much to experience.”
He rambled as he did, moving up to the young wolf and looking at the ground, sniffing it, looking at in all manner of ways to see what exactly was so special about this spot in particular to this wolf. Nothing that he could tell, but the wolf didn’t look okay. There was a look on his face he couldn’t quite understand, but it was familiar… it rang back to the time when he had lost his Grandmother Niviaq, how his mother looked. Loss? Was this loss? He supposed there was one way to find out, but maybe, as always he didn’t really go about it in the most… caring or respectful of fashions, though he didn’t mean anything by it it was simply how he was.