With the autumn months already stretching into the cold grasp of winter, Angier was starting to worry. Despite having told Elettra to not overthink or be anything more than concerned with the pack, the Lyall secretly agonized over the months to come. Not only were his sons growing up fast, but Sköll and Morganna were also maturing; and, come the following Spring, they would both be considered actual adults. With their coming of age, he and Elettra (him even more so than her, as the yearling Archers were her own flesh and blood) faced the threat of being overthrown.
He followed the edges of his realm before stumbling upon the most peculiar scent. Lynx. His hackled rose but not long after he thought to deviate from his trail to follow after it, the feline emerged from the mist on his right and in quite a hurry, it scampered away into the willows on his left. Now, had it been any other lynx, Angier might have shrugged it all off, thinking himself too easily spooked, but this one... this one had pitch black fur. His brow furrowed and when he thought to actually turn around, Sköll's musk wafted his way.
Well, that was curious. It was typical of his step-son to wander to and from Willow Ridge but for the yearling to wander towards Sacred Grove, a place Angier had once been very familiar with, he could not help but to follow. Maybe now was an opportune moment to evaluate him and figure out what his plans were. Obviously, the boy would stay with his mother; he was an Archer after all, and perhaps Angier ought to see for himself if only the second-born royal would have the heart to tell him... Through the fog he traversed the rugged terrain, stopping only when he finally came upon the Swift River without seeing the prince anywhere in sight. He exhaled slowly, before calling out and tilting his muzzle upward to sample the chilled air, "Sköll? ...Sköll?!"
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