Excitement funneled and churned through the little prince’s body, fervent and ardent, swift and quick, and it flowed along his limbs and branched amongst his movements. Some contortions were wild and chaotic, frenzied and rushed, clambering through underbrush or laughing in the spring wind, brewing past the seditious, restless vestiges of his heart and clambering on the more ebullient designs. He was a master of diversions, enveloping over trails once or twice out of pure glee, foxtail, heathen dedication to craft and discovery, lancing and leaping over fallen logs and swaying with the breeze. Brilliantly, vibrantly alive, he soared with poignant amusement into cretin expeditions, danced on the embers and coals of prosperity, walked and waltzed beneath the promise of strength, of prowess. His steps pierced and punctured with effervescent qualities, drummed an infidel rhapsody, over the rapture, the reverie, of surging pride and building esteem, because through his molten efforts, his infernal curiosity, he’d managed to assist his empire in acquiring a new member. Grim, he’d called himself, but the massive beast had been anything but his namesake, kind and charitable, entrusting the youth with his valiant wandering skills as they traipsed through clearings and copses, clambered and ambled through thickets. Erebos, in his minute, mischievous plans saw him as a regal cretin to add to their clan (surely he wouldn’t mind accompanying the infernal, bristling musketeers on examinations and explorations), and the General likely portrayed him as a worthy asset: all in all, the adventure had been a wondrous endeavor. They’d gained an ally, a strong, durable behemoth, and raised the Basin’s potential to another enduring notch across the peaks.

Due to the untamed elation and animation, the child unearthed a constant stream of conversation and dialogue, hardly ever ceasing (unless he tripped unceremoniously over a rock, then quickly recovered as if naught had happened). The words were just as unrestrained as his motions, with wolf grins and impish smiles to match their possessor. “I think you’ll love the herd, Grim!” He waxed poetical on its qualities, on its prowess, bestowing grandeur and splendor where it was justly deserved. “We have a lot of strong people! Torleik is our General,” here the miniature beast paused to glance at the aforementioned warrior, enduring in his scrutiny of warrior tactics and prestige, pondering whether he should ask him for a lesson at some point or merely rely on his sire for the wisdom. “My father is the Lord! His name is Deimos. He’s really strong too. Our Lady is Ophelia, but I don’t know much about her.” The scion shrugged at the last comment, not yet enlightened fully on the ivory femme, but accepted her good-naturedly all the same. Maybe one day Illynx would come back, and Rikyn too, and the yearlings could all be together again.

His speech only ceased when they reached the icy ridge and glacial borders, movements stopping abruptly to gaze at the massive sentinel, the summits and valleys beyond. The sight only increased the bountiful esteem and honor bounding through his chest, and he gleamed towards Grim, bobbing his head in reverent appreciation. “Welcome to the Basin!”

[Welcoming thread for Grimalkin. ^_^ Feel free to join! @[Torleik] @[Grimalkin]