The voice wakes Patrick from a nap of sorts, even the most energetic of folk need to replenish that energy on occasion after all. It hasn't really been much of a nap though for he spent most of the time shifting about restlessly as if suffering bothersome dreams he can not shake. It could be that the waking, even as abrupt as this was, is welcome. He is not quick to answer the summons, nor is he as slow as he has been in the past. The distance from his resting spot to the place the call seems to be coming from is not far. So, he takes his time in shaking sleep from his face and slowly stretching each of his legs. Then, fully awake at last, he picks up a springy trot and heads over to this newest meeting.

I do not recognize the commanding voice as belonging to our leader, or any other adult in the Throat. So, I am even more curious than a meeting such as this would normally make me. So far every meeting I have attended has been different in some way. Of course that "every" isn't a very big number for me. But, that is beside the point. Part of me is hopeful that I might finally find Mop here because, now that I think of it, a meeting was the last place I saw her up close. This sets me to worrying that I might never see her again and I find that, while I haven't thought of it much, this possibility is not pleasant.

Sadly she is not in the crowd when I arrive, of course there aren't many here yet at all. In fact there are none here yet that I know very well. This makes me grin, and it is probably a smug one, at being not only among the first to show up but also the very first from my family. I do recognize every gathered individual from some encounter or another though I've only ever spoken with Arakh before.

The colt scans the gathered group for a moment, with a small and smug grin on his face, paying no attention to the central figure. How he manages to miss a flaming tower of sunlight is a mystery. Maybe he is still just short enough that a lack of looking up might explain it. Eventually he moves forward to join them settling next to the winged and bull-horned boy who just happens to be the present herd member he knows beyond simple recognition. His own faded blue gaze follows the sharp one of the other boy and settles at last on the God of the Sun with similar awe. In contrast to the slate-gray lad however, Patrick doesn't even try to speak. He simply stares and apparently feels no shame at all for this breech of manners.