IF YOU COULD ONLY SEE THE BEAST YOU'VE MADE OF ME
A quiver of his nostrils was all Hound needed to know Rougaru had found him. Even before his son prodded him with an errant foot the scent alone gave him away. Even after all these years, Hound still recognized his children. One time he had been foolish, one time he had disregarded the information mother nature had given him and he had not suffered embarrassment since. He had shown up bellowing his claims and ready to spit fire when his own daughter, his flesh and blood, had strode up to him all power and class. She was the queen of the warrior woman whom he had come to challenge. She had lost, but Hound begrudgingly gave her some praise before taking his spoils from her herd. Though seeing her had surprised him, he'd had expected her to amount to nothing. He threw her away and she'd found power (and pain) in that.
But Rougaru was a son. A strong son born of his favored mare. He'd known all along that he would do something with his life. Enough that it would continue Hound's own legacy, whatever it was. For a moment Hound is transported back to Ora amidst the raging seas and his secluded corner. Only he is much younger, napping in his favorite spot, and Rougaru is but a child begging his father to play.
"Can't teach an old dog new tricks," the old beast says, his voice haggard and rasping but enough bellow that his remaining strength was unmistakable. "Thought you'd learned not to wake me when you were small." He grunts, opening a single eye to look up at his son. The sun shines behind Rougaru's head, illuminating him with patches of dappled light and for a moment he sees only Lotus Flower. He extends his nose, blowing a breath at Rougaru before snapping at his nostril, not in malice but simply to keep him on his toes as he always had.
Thrusting out a dinner plate sized hoof, the hound finds purchase in the sands and yanks himself to his feet, shaking the loose sand from his scar-riddled pelt. Hound turned toward Rougaru finally, looking at him for the first time in many years. His expression is blank, though it is clear from the movement of his eyes he is appraising him. Hound leans back, popping a hoof and relaxing one of his hind legs. "Rougaru." Though he makes no move to compliment or encourage, it's clear that it's at least not a dismissal.
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