Gods, his sleep schedule was getting out of whack. For the most part, it wasn't that he didn't trust Celandine; it was mostly due to his want to keep an eye on her and see to her every need. Given that she was quite the independent personality, though, he often found himself hanging back and simply shadowing her steps (when his eyelids weren't heavy with sleep and his legs didn't feel like rotten logs ready to crack and plummet to the forest floor). Today, he wasn't feeling too bad. He even had the chance to outsmart a zealous snowshoe hare. It had been clear her head had been elsewhere - like the Lore wolves with her thoughts riding the highs of the Breeding Season - and her misfortune of being caught unaware had been Skoll's advantage. He thought he was going to be gifting it to his new Leader, but as Sven's familiar call rang out into the Scowle, he changed his mind.
Careful to navigate between the moss-covered boulders and slush-covered pathways, the older Archer picked his way through the trees until he saw his ivory-coated son. At first, his tail hung in the air, nearly parallel to his spine. It was going to wag sooner or later, being reunited with his first-born and all, but Skoll wanted to look him over first. Just as he did with the others.
He crossed the invisible line between the places where Morganna, Niles, and Celandine had marked. He was outside their territory.
A muffled bark was given as he stared at the state of Sven's coat, seeing the scars that criss-crossed and the glimmer that shone in those pale eyes. It was clear something was up. Skoll slowly dropped the mottled hare on the ground in front of him before stepping over it lightly touching the left side of his muzzle to Sven's right. Had they been human, he might have outstretched his arms, just waiting for a hug. For as far as wolves could go, this would have to do and Skoll expected nothing more and nothing less.
There was a small smile on his bloodied lips, his tail caught in a gentle sway like a flag in the Spring breeze,
"Long time, no see." His voice sounded tired; it was something he couldn't help, but there was a warmth in his tone that could not be misread. There were smells and scents that mingled with the young adult's coat, but Skoll never missed a chance to exercise his brand of social graces,
"How are you, Sven?"
i'm a dreamer, i'm a man
i'm doing whatever i can to make the bad things go away