As the boy's legs grew, so did the range he would explore. He still remained within the bounds of the familiar meadows; yet, without a doubt, the urge was very much present to finally surpass the borders and venture into the woodlands nearby.

His muzzle drifted over the ground, stifling small sneezes as the lush grass tickled his nostrils. Towards the mysterious woods, he could smell Shiloh—a very, very odd sentence only months ago. Yet, now, Lugh did just about everything with his nose; navigate, hunt, even simply play around.

He padded forward, still following the scent of his brother, only halting at the sight of the fiery red coat—much like his own. Shiloh! He barked, lifting his head and speeding into a steady lope.

When compared to his sister, he was certainly a lot more absent. Lugh wasn't nearly as familiar with him as he was with fable—yet, kin was still kin. Shiloh was still his brother, a familiar face, a familiar presence. What're ye doin' out here? He questioned, halting nearby. It's gettin' dark. Two-toned eyes shifted away from the lion-boy and off into the distance. Nightfall wasn't a reason for Shiloh to return home; yet, it was a reason for Lugh to.

Alas, the growing pup was not the type to be still. And darkening skies would not defeat his boundless bull-headedness.