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300+ words.
He had aged so much since arriving in Cour des Miracles and taking up a position as the Constable, and then making the even more difficult decision to rise to the rank of King during the prolonged absence of the pack’s founder and original ruler. Vigilante was so vastly different from the dog he had been when he had arrived here, strained by the murder of his sister and the worries of his past finding him. He would never have suspected then that he would be sitting here as he was now, the leader of this band of misfits and mutts. He was proud of his position now, though certainly now in the same others might have been, and he was happy. The storm, however, and other recent events had made him feel tired. He was aging physically, as well, having passed his fifth birthday during the storm. The dogs of his ancestry did not live the longest of lives and he had more experience than many. He was beginning to actually feel his age, though it was not visible.
The Apothecary had been one of the pack’s most formal members for as long as he had known her, and he greeted the words with a small smile. “Thank you,” he spoke, wise jades watching the two young puppies before returning to the collie woman’s delicate features. She spoke as if she was unsure, perhaps as if she believed he would scorn her and her children because of their parentage or her lack of a mate or explanation. “They cannot be judged by who their father is, and I cannot demand that you tell me,” he said simply. The only one in the pack that knew of his past was his mate, but he would have hated for Noah and Liam to be judged by his bloody history. He could not do it to the puppies she held.
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