[BCK-PRP] Still Just a Whelp (Vilh & Ahri'ok)

[Anderleit]

Vilh felt good. There was strength in his tawny muscles, a solidity that hadn't been there scarce nights ago. It felt unexpected and new, this thickening of his limbs and hardening of pads, all explained by luxurious new lengths of his silver mane. Not that he'd be caught dead saying so around the Warborn. He'd learned pretty early on that words like "luxury" were a quick way to earn yourself some scars.

Not that he had any really nice ones, not yet. Presumably, it was due to the youth of his opponents - or maybe just because shamans-in-training didn't scrap as well as grunts. Whichever. Vilh was fairly confident he'd find out, and make up for the scars he lacked, soon enough.

For now, the young male quite literally had bigger things to worry about. He was meeting his mentor today, just here, on the outskirts of the pride's territory. He was early: not just out of excitement (though that was certainly a factor), but because the way the older grunts had laughed and told him to 'take his time' made him think that was the exactly wrong thing to do. All of his caution was mostly speculative, when you came right down to it. After all, it wasn't like those same grunts could be bothered to tell him who his mentor was going to be.

Kivras

 

[viatorai]

Never in his life had he volunteered for a patrol any earlier than when the sun was starting to dip down past the horizon. Never in his life had he woken up before the sun was almost mid-sky.

And never in his life would he forget or forgive the poor peon that delivered the message from the Warlord.

'Sick' was not an excuse to him. Patrolling with a broken leg at some point had deafened him to the excuses of some of the more junior patrol leaders, and he was sure to give the poor dawn patrol leader an earful once he got back. there was absolutely no reason to wake him up this early, especially so early that it was still dark. By the ancestors he was going to make sure that peon had extra den cleaning duty.

By the time he had reached the meeting point, he was in a foul, foul mood. Scowling and snapping his teeth at the slightest annoyance, such as a poor butterfly that blew past his nose at the wrong moment. Mm, protein.

"Well, what are you waiting for?!" He snarled as he got closer to who he could only guess was his...eugh...apprentice for the patrol. No scars? Not even a bruise that he could see. Pads were probably soft as a newborn whelp's, too. "Get going before it gets any later."

Anderleit