Deimos sat half-a-dozen feet from his brother, watching the emaciated wolf demolish the fat wild turkey the alpha had caught for him. Never had he seen food swallowed that fast. Well, aside from his first, true kill. He had pretty much inhaled that rabbit without chewing or swallowing properly.

And he sat so far away because the first time he had tried to sit down, Phobos' snarls had made it clear that he was far to close to the black wolf's meat. Instead of getting angry, like some wolves might, Deimos had nodded in understanding and moved to his current location, waiting until his brother was reading to talk.

Though the vagabond hadn't intended to growl at the provider of his meal, it had slipped from his throat before he could stop it. Fresh blood hadn't wet his tongue in far too long, and his brain had seen the alpha as simply another wolf, one that might steal the steaming flesh before him. It was the same reason why he ate the meat so quickly, being fearful that something might snatch it away.

But now, as he snorted the last of the feathers away from his nose and licked the blood from his muzzle, he padded quietly and slowly towards the big spotted wolf, acting as if he were afraid to approach Deimos. The emotions inside him were confusing him; it was evident in his body language.

He waited until Phobos was only a few feet away before he deemed it safe to move again, then he closed the distance between them in one bound, resisting the urge to bowl him over in a pounce of joy at the last minute. The tension seemed to leave his brother, and the two wolves whined and licked, familiarizing each other's scents.

Soon, his alpha instincts kicked in, and he pushed Phobos down, licking behind his ears, along his muzzle, making sure the black wolf knew that he was safe now, that he would be taken care of. Then he sat and started licking Phobos' fur, cleaning away the dirt and trying to make up for lost time, even though he knew that nothing could bring back the years he'd lost with the wolf before him. Somewhere between licks, words slipped from his maw in a whisper.

"I'm so sorry, brother . . . "

Tail wagging slowly, Phobos reveled in the attention, murring softly. He was full, warm, and Deimos was well at work at cleaning him up. He felt utterly lazy, and surprisingly, very at home. It had happened so fast, but it felt right; this was his brother, and even though he knew they had much yet to go through, the knowledge that they would be going through it together was enough to ease his fears. And when he heard those four words, so filled with pain and regret, Phobos felt his heart mend.

"I know, brother. But it'll be okay. I've got you now . . . "

Feeling the tension in his chest ease, Deimos lay down next to Phobos and groomed him, the two wolves perfectly comfortable in the silence. When the warm sun started to lull them to sleep, the alpha pawed at the black wolf's face and nipped his brother in the ear.

"No . . . we have each other . . . "