January 5th; Morning, sunrise; Freezing fog; -18° F/-28° C

Keeping tabs on all three - now four after it seemed like Octavius had landed into his care without so much more than a request for help or plea from his niece, Taima - cubs was tiring work. From sunrise to sunset, Angier Lyall was constantly kept on his toes. The snow might have made it easy to track down all of them, but the cold made it a whole new sort of chore. With the threat of facing his eight Spring, the Leader of Willow Ridge considered himself so very, very lucky to have been spared the arthritis and everyday aches (that his father had once suffered from) thus far. A part of him both praised and thanked himself for adopting a rather adaptive and flexible lifestyle which, he was certain, actually contributed to this realization of well-being.

Now, he might not have had a spring in his step (with the ice daring to creep up between his toes) or a cheerful wag in his tail (he had yet to count the scents around the edges of Willow Ridge, and accounting for his sons' trails were currently his first priority), but he at least still felt that he had the same amount of energy he had as when he had first come to Relic Lore.

Several minutes of simply scouring the hard-packed snow and placing one lumbering step in front of the other, had brought him well beyond the borders of Willow Ridge, hot on Taima's trail which seemed to be only hours old... and it trailed Skoll's own footsteps for a while before seemingly branching away to forge her own path through the snow.

He came to an abrupt stop as the winter wind tousled his thick coat. Taking a moment to take in the scenery did nothing though as the fog soon came to close in all around him. He could only hope that Skoll was behaving himself, Taima had already seen and been through so much that he couldn't even dare to think of what his step-son might have said in passing to his niece.

His breath rose up in wisps from his nostrils, lifting to merge into the dense curtain of haze. As if to call them both back to him, he let loose a beckoning bark, only to stand in the eerie chilled silence in wait for someone, anyone, to return his call.

A sharp exhale came from him in an airy snort, a sound of unmistakable uncertainty. The two wolves in question - the heiress and the prince - were old enough to not need his supervision, but a part of him still felt obligated to look after them. They were his blood and family after all and he could not help but to worry. Not long after he had expressed his incredulity of what might have or could have happened, his call was answered by someone he had not expected.

Deacon...

"Dad?" he had questioned, "Are you okay?" Angier slowly turned to address him, watching as a few more steps brought them shoulder to shoulder. A quick swipe of a warm tongue to his chin had his brows angled upward and his head canted to one side. Gone now was the boy who had been lost to the wilderness beyond the willows; and, in his place, stood a rather regal young man. One that was particularly just as worried and concerned about the pack.

A smile tried and failed to show on his silvered muzzle but the corners of his lips at least twitched briefly in a small simper at the thought of enjoying the snow. As he remained in his place, Deacon pressed himself against his side. All the older Lyall could do was offer a simple wag of his tail. "Everything's fine," he gruffly announced, returning his son's affection with a stroke of his chin over the boy's crown and temple. Deacon stated that he didn't understand and to that Angier could only reply with: "It's all right. I jus' want ta make sure everyone's okay an' that you're okay too." As if to make an attempt at quelling what uneasiness had edged its way into the prince's head, the Leader gently nudged his shoulder into Deacon's.

Instead of a grin or even a comforted nod, the eldest Archer-Lyall responded with a plea, something that made Angier's heart threaten to sink into his stomach. Taima, while a decent addition to the pack, was an odd one - needy, confused, troubled, and still very cub-like at two years of age - and a part of Angier suspected that something {horrible} had happened to her during the time she had been abducted from her home in Grizzly Hollow. Something that neither he nor Borden nor Kade could have prevented due to being stuck to the depths of the Cedarwood Forest by fear and the perilous prospect of disease.

"O' course she does," he lied through his teeth, sitting down also as to drape his bottle-brush-like tail over his son's. "She's jus'... busy." He hesitated and immediately he hoped Deacon wouldn't 'read into' anything from such a lengthy pause, "Jus' like how yer brother Sköll's usually busy. During the winter, your mother an' I need everyone to help out th'pack... to scavenge, hunt, mind the borders, an' keep the rogues away from our lands."

He drew his eyes away from Deacon now, focusing instead on the outlines of the trees he could barely see through the fog. "Have you seen Gus lately, though?" he asked in a rather off-handed manner. Whatever Taima might have been doing while Gus constantly kept the Archer-Lyalls company by the pack dens, some part of him hoped that she wouldn't take the boy with her for the sake of giving him a stable, family-oriented upbringing. Since befriending Deacon, Angier had taken notice just how much Gus had prospered from simple, near-constant companionship; and he was loath to even think that Taima was willing to take it all away from him.

Deacon, of course, was as smart a they come, easily countering his father's statements with ones of his own. Angier let the first comment linger without retorting, letting his son have a moment before continuing on. Though, once he was through, and the topic of Taima had shortly run its course between the two Lyalls, the Leader eagerly listened as Deacon shared that he may - may - have seen Octavius in the den with Castiel and that the two of them were just fine. Angier supposed he could take the boy's word for it, being Octavius' "best friend" and all.

He heaved a sigh, letting the warm air force itself from him through his nose. Well, that was that... A quick stop by the pack den at the cubs' "bedtime" would have to be something he would have to remember to do before running a night vigil if the fog managed to lift later in the evening.

"'ey dad?" the youth was quick to ensnare his attention again before it wandered elsewhere (wondering about Skoll, how Jaysyek and Borden were doing, where Elettra and Morganna were, what the other youngsters were doing, and so forth). "Hmm?" he indulged Deacon before being bombarded with a rather surprising declaration.

Well, Angier might have honestly expected such a thing to come from the mouth of one of his boys, but for Deacon to be the first was something very pleasant. "Course we can 'ang out more," he warmly smiled then, looking to the near-yearling's face. "Whenever ya want." He returned his gaze to the misted lands before him, looking to try and see where Deacon's own focus had landed.

"It's a big responsibility," he said slowly, his voice managing to keep the warm tone in his words. "But I 'ave no doubt about ya managin' such a feat. It jus'... takes practice, I think, among other things."

Angier gave the boy an indulgent smile. Deacon thought he could do it, but the Leader really did have no doubt about him being capable of such a thing - leadership, a position of power from which he could rule Willow Ridge as a just and fair king. His head tilted to the left from such a sudden thought. King. Pride swelled in his chest and he held the first-born's gaze when their eyes met.

Of course he had known of Elettra's lineage, of her life within Torbine, what she had left behind and what she had taken with her. There was no disputing that she was a queen in her own right though, a learned healer born as a princess and made a monarch through the trials of Relic Lore's wilderness. That being said, that did mean that her sons also had within them royal blood. It sent tingles down his spine.

He might not have thought of himself as a king - a Leader or ruler or Lord or maybe Baron (which was to be his proper title as the head of his father's pack), perhaps - but King Deacon Archer Lyall could have only sounded right. The prince's next question brought him off the tracks of his train of thought and his ears came forward in genuine interest.

"So, uh, what things will I have to learn and practice? Hunting? Guarding? Healing?" he asked.

The older Lyall righted his skull as he considered what skills he and his brothers had to practice and hone... what he and Elettra both requested and demanded of the yearlings and their brood. "Well, huntin' is somethin' e'eryone has ta do," he lent. "What kinda Leader can't feed their followers, hmm?" It was rhetorical question, meant to somewhat strike up a sort of 'aha' moment. "Healin' is useful, but if it isn't yer thing, it jus'... isn't."

"Yer mother an I 'appen to know a bit about it 'cause it was our calling," he then explained. "She was taught in the lands of Torbine; and, I was my uncle's apprentice because yer Uncle Borden had th'brawn to put me an our siblings in place. I couldn't fight or spar. Jus' wasn't my thing." He fell silent for a while before continuing; he would be stupid to tell Deacon that he had only been able to rise as a Leader when Guinness, a late Guardian of the Ridge, had bested him in a rank fight. The point he wanted to make was one that encouraged his son to take up the qualities of a Leader, the commander of a pack, and then do what felt natural or right to him.

"As a Leader, ya  have to possess the power an' the will to be dominant over yer subjects," he started again. "Yer mother an' I expect you cubs to figure it all out eventually - where ya stand, what ya wanna do, where ya wanna go - but while ya 'ave us to guide ya, it's ultimately all on you to get what ya want." He stared across the bridge of his muzzle at Deacon, wondering if this all would sink into his sponge-like mind. Then, with averting his eyes, he chose the faint outline of a distant willow and stared at it; with his skull straight, his ears somewhat relaxed, and the fur along his throat and chest fluffed up from the winter chill, he gave the impression of a tired and weary councilman. Maybe, one that could have, in turn, resembled that of a pale-coated lion staring through the bars of a cage. As though, once upon a time, he had been something fierce - a man of rebellion and a zeal for power - and the years of wandering and the weight of power had aged him.

"You 'ave to protect what ya 'ave and guard it as best ya can," he said after some time, his voice a low rumble now. "Which means that you must do whatever ya can to keep everything under your name as-is. Ya have ta hunt in order to feed yer subordinates, yer followers. Ya use yer resources and make 'em a shelter and safe 'aven as if they were yer own cubs. Ya sometimes teach 'em what they don't know and, sometimes, ya need to be flexible, because everyone's different an' there always 'as to be some kind of trust there... between you an' yer mate, yer second-in-command or yer Advisor, yer supporters, yer sons an' daughters. If they can see that, then yer pack will succeed."

The prime example of this, naturally, was Elettra, but Angier had no doubt that Deacon had already expected this, assumed this, seen this, and known this firsthand... which was fortunate, because it meant his son had a much better foundation than he had. It was no wonder now that Borden, he, Asriel, and Skoll all acted out (even Nolan and Tesla had gone out of line, with going against family tradition and leaving Bertram Valley altogether). With Merritt Lyall's secrecy and the Archer cubs' sire's absence, they had all gone without this sort of heart-to-heart parenting. Sorrel and Elettra, even with as influential as they were, could only be so many places at once; while they couldn't have been the ones to blame, maybe, this was the reason sons needed their fathers... why Angier had to change... to forever stay with the one who had both stolen, broken, healed, and kept his heart. Once bound to her, it made no sense for him to maintain his nomadic, Survivalist-driven ways.

"Understand?" he then asked, stealing a glance at the prince through the corner of his eye. "It isn't jus' that though... Most important of all, ya have to want to be a Leader. If ya don't, someone better suited, stronger, more powerful, more diplomatic, might come along an' take the position right from under ya."

Uncle Borden, Deacon had mentioned... Angier couldn't help but smile at such a thing. It was heartening to know that his sons - or Deacon, at least - had taken a liking to his brother, the wolf whose stories centered around being a good example of a generous and forgiving Leader and a very fierce, protective defender of sorts. Overall, though, it gladdened the older Lyall to simply know just how bright those golden eyes had lit up at the bestowment of each concept. In what little glimpses of memories he recalled from his cub days, he knew for a fact that this was how Borden was when he was younger. It went without saying now that his first-born boy had the makings of what could possibly be a promising commander of his own pack, even more so when Deacon voiced that he did want to become a Leader.

Though, when the boy questioned further, about where he could lead, Angier took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "You, m'son, were truly born fer greatness," he lent, "Whether ya choose to lead Willow Ridge or anywhere else, it is yers to take. You can go wherever ya like. I 'ave no doubts in that. If ya believe you 'ave what it takes, then you can do it." His gaze slowly went down to the ground where his and Deacon's paws were beside one another, merely inches apart as they sat together. They were pretty much the same size. When that had happened, Angier didn't even want to know anymore; time had simply passed much too fast and within a blink of an eye, his first-born had already beaten the odds for survival.

"As much as we would love to 'ave ya at home, Deacon," he added quietly, "Wherever ya 'ventually end up, yer mother an' I will be right behind ya. You will 'ave our support. No question 'bout it."