Fenrir stands at the rear of the gathering, not uncomfortable, but feeling as though the bonding is meant for those who have missed one another rather than a black and quiet stranger. The words of Mistletoe, of course, does stir something within him. A soft pride that comes from knowing you had little more than a romp to do with the beauty, little more than keeping your mate happy to do with hers.
Then, of course, his children are adding their voices to the choir. He smiles at the approval of the other adults, younger than him though they were, and then turned to Warlow as he is addressed. “She rather cares for herself, actually. I am sadly useless to her in much else other than quiet moments and tending to the growling bellies that seem to abound in our family.” Humility was not a hard thing, though it was likely due to the long time knowledge of this brother who addressed him and an eagerness to be liked.
The rest of the time, his children decided on dispersing. Tiamat, the most outgoing, bounded to where the other children played and batted large paws where she thought there might be a tail or paw to swat. Feather, the kindest and most subtle took a small and peeking glance at Levi, creeping forward as if her white body were not easily spotted. Medea, ever her father’s daughter, sat quietly, staring up at the gathered adults and with no regard for the playful mess of puppies and children that were off to one side.
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