5/1/2025, 2:45 AM
roughly eight months
The Midnight Prince pricked his ears as his father spoke, halting the Skjoldrheim with only a few decrees barked out firmly. Sverke was thoroughly enjoying the trip; the new sights, scents and sounds a thrilling blend of novelty that had not at all yet lost its shine for him. The juvenile's lanky frame found the pace of the little caravan to be good for settling some of his restlessness, but he had energy to spare and much of that energy went into managing his many impulses and annoyances that begged to be unleashed, in such close quarters with the other wolves.
He hadn't quite given up an inner desire to take a chunk out of Sindri's rear as recompense for worrying them all, breaking the rules (as if he didn't do the same) and worse than all of it combined: stealing Tyr away for what seemed to him to be a fun solo trip with Father. However, the boy was hoping to be granted the honor of scouting ahead of the caravan at some point, if he could only telepathically communicate that to his Father - asking for it would be embarrassing.
Still, for now, he was freed to upend the surrounding undisturbed nature with his whirlwind energy. He slid a glance Asgeir's way, placidly assumed this to be enough to rope his twin into his orbit, and immediately slipped into the trees almost before his father had ceased speaking. Sverke had shit to do - dirt to sniff, leaves to chew on, siblings to try to jump-scare while they were looking for a shaded place to piss.
