5/1/2025, 2:58 AM
![[Image: cupid-chirpeax.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/wj8G0kHm/cupid-chirpeax.png)
Tyr was in charge of the caravan. So the kids were Tyr's problem. It wasn't like Cupid could realistically corral or keep an eye on them (although he did do a head-count via scent and sound every so often, because he was their father - or for some, at least one of the responsible adults around). He was having a difficult enough time with the unfamiliar terrain, the wings perched on his shoulder and cooing with concern as he picked his way carefully through the snow and forests. It helped to have other wolves to more or less blaze the trail, but Cupid realized very quickly he'd been a bit spoiled on the isle - where he'd quickly memorized most of the paths he'd need to get just about wherever he desired.
So, in all, he was not really paying attention. He was rather zoned out, focusing on his own steps, and following the flow of the flock. The task of wrangling all those (intentionally raised to be, if he was honest) teens fell to Tyr.
Cupid was having a vacation. The call to halt came eventually, and he gracefully allowed his haunches to sink to the forest floor. The fallen god lifted his chin, staring into the trees and listening to the distant birdsong and sounds of the wind through the trees. Ah. Peaceful.
