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04.08.12 . 1pm . amherst . optime form



Teme Lupus is by Alaine!

The young Stormbringer couldn't help his wandering now. He'd gotten away with it a good few times now without consequences and in his young mind, that meant he was going to be doing this a whole lot more often. It wasn't like he was getting bored of his home- he still managed to find joy in exploring the grounds, Elias at his side. But there was something about the unknown outside the borders, the lack of rules that meant he was free. He knew his father didn't quite approve, but there seemed to be an unspoken barrier set up between the pair since Temeraire's flight from home. It wasn't a problem, but Tem living on his own was certainly wedging something between the two Stormbringer males. Perhaps it was because he was no longer under his fathers constant watch, but their relationship was changing, perhaps morphing into something different entirely.


After waking late as usual, Temeraire had rolled out of his bed and onto the floor. Stretching in his optime form was a concept he hadn't quite figured out, and therefore reverted back to the lupus way of doing things. He was too lazy to actually shift though and therefore looked strange doing so. On his hands and knees, the boy had stretched out and yawned before standing and making his way into the open living area to grab some dried meat that Miskunn seemed intent on feeding him on for the rest of his life. He had handfuls of the stuff, hidden in convenient nooks and crannies around his house- he wasn't entirely sure why Miskunn was hiding the food she was giving him, but he wasn't going to complain.


He headed towards Amherst today, a pair of shorts his only adornment. He'd been tempted to bring Helexia with him, but the filly had nearly kicked him when he'd suggested a sourjourn out of the packlands. He'd given the foal a chuckle and a rub of the head before heading out. The ruins of the city were just coming into clarity and the young male was certainly oblivious to his surroundings. A soft whistle, a tune Uncle Bran had taught him, danced from his lips as he scruffed his hair up and broke into a trot, hoping to find something in Amherst today.

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