Night had settled upon the crest, but the break in cloud cover left the moonlight unbridled, a boon to the wolves who dwelled below. The king's routine patrol had taken longer than usual, a cache of foxes having been found to attempt and burrow just within his border. Catching their scent, the man wistfully thought of simpler times, when he and @Cessair had teamed up together to take down the rivals when before they had made the mistake to tread too close to Round Stone Crest and their young. This time, he enlisted no one to assist him, instead eliminating the small family himself. They had scattered, and it had taken time tracking each down, but it had been done, and now as he made his ascent back up to the den and its clearing, he occasionally stopped to clean fox blood from his maw and limbs.

Upon one of these instances, something moved through the night's shade, and the leviathan froze mid-action, ears standing tall, but not tremulously so. A vigilant sentry at all times, he did not fear what lurked within the dark, no matter its intent nor how many teeth it may possess. The monstrous wolf was certain that any threat which dared to rear its head within his domain could be swiftly dealt with by his own paws. After all, he had yet to be toppled (excepting that fluke involving @Naia as a yearling; damn the ice!), a fact that, looking back upon his nearly pristine record, only served to bolster the king's arrogance. Yet as he continued to stand there, silent and still as a statue, and take in all the clues the night air surrendered to him, it soon became apparent that there was no reason for alarm. It was only Draven, swimming through the brush, on his way to god knows where.

With renewed purpose, Gent fell into step some lengths behind the youth, following him curiously. There was a time where he knew the children's schedules, their favorite activities and most frequented locations. That all had been torn away by the earthquake that had been Minka's death. It still pained and confused him to know of the barricade that had been so suddenly and viciously erected between himself the ones he used to be able to call his. He had been trying to reverse it all, but found that he could not so easily control others as he'd like. Something had been broken deeper down, and it seemed to no longer matter that he had been their father just as Minka had been their mother. This urged him to recoil, and at times he did, but there was still something within him that yearned to reconnect, to reach them and help them back into the light.

The man had been about to chuff lowly in hopes of garnering Draven's attention, perhaps to ask him if the king could join whatever venture he was on, when a miserable and ethereal sound filled his ears. His pale eyes darted around their surroundings, seeking a source, but quickly he was forced to accept that it had come from Draven himself. It was now that he became aware of just how stiffly the youth was moving, as though fighting rigor mortis. Concern began to bubble up within his stomach when another low moan triggered memories of an occasion with Calanthe earlier that day. Her superstitions, as much as he wholeheartedly refuted them, threaten to drag his mind toward a similar state, casting a paranormal light upon the situation before him.

He was not a man to believe in such things, and certainly not one to be frightened, and yet he could not help but liken Draven to a walking corpse, especially with his coal coat doused in moonlight and the eerie fog of post-dusk fall settling around their paws. Retaining his silence, Gent could only follow, waiting for the boy to do anything else.

The further Gent watched his boy, the more evident it became that something was very wrong. Adrenaline began to leak slowly, almost hesitantly into his system, but it gave him a subtle rush all the same. He picked up his pace, aiming to now catch up to the boy, but before he could reach him the child suddenly collapsed onto the ground with a wretched whine. What had happened? his mind demanded to know, snout taking on the wrinkled shadows of a snarl. Again he tested the air for blood; had something, someone harmed him? Had he gotten sick? Another infection, even?

Coming to his side, the man promptly laid down next to his adopted son and immediately set about fussing over him, uncaring at this point about any awkwardness that might still exist between them. He nosed at his shoulders and roof, scanned his spine, even pushed a paw against his side in an attempt to get the boy to roll over so he might check his underside for hints as to what was wrong.

"Draven," he spoke firmly, hoping to both get the boy's solid attention and prove to him that he needed to take this matter seriously. "What's wrong, son? Tell me." He was not a man to fear ghosts and demons, superstitions and things that go bump in the night, but as he failed to find a solid reason for why Draven was in such miserable shape, he began to feel the first few drops of fear hit his spine. He couldn't let anything happen to him, he couldn't lose anyone else.

Gent's ears curved back against his skull as his slight push was enough to topple the monthling, further indication of just how weak he was. Something was very wrong, and the father couldn't help the low whine that threatened to press between his clenched teeth as he continued his search for the culprit. Yet before he could thoroughly assess Draven's situation, the boy was suddenly pulling away from him as quickly as he could despite the clear exhaustion within his muscles. The king's glacial optics snapped up to the pine green pools through which the boy saw the world, and a saddened frown etched into his maw as he withstood the rejection. Still? the leviathan couldn't help but wonder with exasperation. If he had known that the trust he had went to such great lengths to build between himself and Minka's widowed family could be so easily discarded by the children, he would have forgone the effort, he selfishly decided with a chuff.

Hoisting himself back up onto his paws, his mask hardened with determination as he stared the boy down. Whatever was broken between them would not stand in the way of Draven's well-being. He stared him down, watching the boy's tongue peek out from his mouth, and then the pieces began to fall into place.

"Draven, something is wrong, and I'm not leaving until I've helped you through it," he informed the boy. "We're going to the go to a stream and get you some water, alright? There's one not far from here. Come on--you can lean on me for support." You can trust me, dammit.

If it hadn't been for the extreme gravity of Draven's condition and the wealth of concern flooding his chest, Gent would've reacted aggressively to the disrespect being doled out to him by the youth. As things were, he was distracted enough to completely overlook such things, however his frustrations remained. Had their relationship truly disintegrated to this extreme point, that even when he felt as though he were dying the child still would rather suffer alone than accept Gent's presence and help? It hurt him, somewhere in his chest that wasn't quite his heart. Maybe his pride? Doing his best to discard what was currently trivial emotions, he became more firm with his dealings.

"You're not going to sleep, Draven. You're coming to the river with me," he decided for the boy, approaching him once more. He would force him if he had to, call for reinforcements even, whatever it took to help the monthling whether he wanted it or not.

Finally, with a whine, the boy began to relent, and upon hearing that Draven wasn't sure if he could use his legs, Gent promptly nestled himself down at the boy's side again. He slithered his forelimb under the boy's chest behind his legs, and then his shoulder, wedging himself partially under the other male before attempting to stand again, hopefully bringing Draven with him.

"Lean on me as much as you have to, Drave. We'll go slow, but please, you have to move."

He was there for him every step of the way, a wealth of patience that only fatherhood could initiate within him at Draven's service. When they at last arrived at the stream, he was patient too with allowing the boy to gather himself before drinking. The king had never allowed himself to reach such extremes of dehydration before, and still wondered if perhaps there was something more to Draven's horrid state, but this would at least be the start, and he would be at his side no matter what it took to cure the boy.

He was uplifted to see Draven take that first drink, and further relieved when his son continued, but when Draven's efforts turned to guzzling Gent swiftly became alarmed.

"Woah... hey... hey hey hey! Slow down!" he instructed, but the pain that flashed across the monthling's face made it clear he'd learned the hard way. A sigh fled the king's jaws, and he laid next to Draven, stretching himself out along the flat of the boy's back. Whether he wanted him to or not, Gent was unsure at this point, he would remain here.

"You should start to feel better soon. Waters what you need, but take it easy, alright? Drinking too much at once can be bad for you... if you're tired, ago ahead and close your eyes. I'll be right here, keeping you safe."