He was still sore, oddly enough. Sore with the weight of invisible scars. Weary from the healing of flesh torn from his body by one stony fist. Despite having been walking once more for quite some time, Eythan was sore and carried a somewhat noticeable limp in his step. He hadn't flown in a while --- the idea of it was too tiring to even think about. All he had really done was just lie around and choke down some smaller bones. They were something resembling sustenance.

Least to say, he wasn't in the best state of being he had ever been.

But, at least, hearing his brother's voice made him feel a little better. Small ears immediately pricked in the direction of the call. Without even being told to, his limbs began to carry him (albeit sluggishly) towards the source. Seeing a fluffy white lump in the distance, Eythan called, "Aure? Is that you?" A few steps closer, and he was able to confirm. "Hot shit, it is you! Why didn't you tell me you were back?"

He reached up with a casual foot to ruffle the young hybrid's feathers.

Eythan visibly flinched, withdrawing his paw immediately and setting it back on the ground. He gawked for a second, beak cracked slightly. "Don't touch me," he parroted, "what centipede crawled up your--" The gryphon would be cut off, though, as Aure began to talk about being home and bringing together an age-old family with new blood. Then, there was talk of a little thing called trust. Eythan's ears unconsciously flickered back, a subtle hint of the defensive posturing to come. He knew what was coming. He had for a while, now. Aure's tense wings said it all.

"Giggle told you." That was all the older of the two could say. His head lowered, and he staggered backwards slightly. For all intents and purposes, Eythan was submitting to the done deed. Some selfish part of him thought that there may be a lesson to be learned from this, for both of them. The eldest would learn about a bit of honesty, and the youngest would learn a bit of the sourness of life.

So, he murmured carefully, "I act like I'm fine because I have to."

Eythan did not like this: the fearful look in Aure's eyes, the way he staggered backwards, the way he hesitated over every word, the preparation to flee at a moment's notice. It hurt to realize that he had never noticed it before — when the wyvern was young, barely two cycles old, he had been nervous at the top of the Chambers, and unwilling to let himself fall. Whether or not it was déjà vu from the jasper's previous life, Eythan couldn't decide but... but he hadn't realized why the child had been so nervous. The spotted gryphon's wings sagged and he sunk to his haunches, then his elbows. "Fuck..." he cursed beneath his breath, spitting at his own, blood-stained claws.

"I'm sorry — I really am, but Dad was hurting himself and he let himself fall. I tried to save him when I only helped him die. I didn't kill him." His throat bobbed, swallowing down a thick sob. "He blamed himself for mistakes that weren't even his and I was too stupid and young to notice. I was just a dumb cub who thought the world owed me something. I just didn't know what that something was. I still don't." Perhaps he was still just a dumb cub, who played in the dirt and with sticks and mud. He threw stones at passing cars and egged front porches at times. "But, I don't miss Dad, as awful as that sounds — listen, I didn't really know him, so I can't mourn him. I mourn what could have been: long nights spent underneath his wings; him teaching me how to fly; him showing me the world. I wanted to give that to you, but I was too stupid to realize —"

His breath hitched for a moment, and Eythan paused to exhale. "Listen, Aure, listen. You are not next. There is no next. There never will be a next," he reassured, "and I act like everything's okay because I have to. If I start looking back, I start to get dizzy and lose track of where I am. I start looking down from high places and think about what it would be like if I joined Father, if I joined Carni — who did nothing to me, I was stupid, stupid, yet again."

"Everybody makes mistakes, and Dad knows I've made more than my fair share," he concluded, carefully, "but, my biggest mistake wasn't killing our father. My biggest mistake wasn't killing Carni. My biggest mistake was killing myself." Eythan lowered his head, utterly defeated. "If you dwell on the past and don't try to improve, then you're just going to get left behind and you're going to drown in the guilt until somebody maybe drags you out of it," he paused to peer in the direction of Giggle's den, "and that's a big fucking maybe, Aure."

His gaze then drifted towards where Aza'zel once called upon the Bonebound, where he led with all the pride and confidence of a good King — if only he had been a little more vulnerable — "don't repeat Dad's mistakes, and you better not repeat mine." There was a harsh reality to life, that Eythan felt like Aure needed to know, "please don't waste your time mourning anyone or anything for too long. They're never worth it, they're already dead and nobody's come back from the grave to tell us all how fucking fantastic and worth it dying is."

The bone, marrow and all, clunk! mutely against his beak. Eythan's ears flitted up at the brief nuzzle, and before he could even stand, the young wyvern had taken off. "I was gone too," the gryphon murmured without much purpose. His wings unfurled from his sides for a moment, wanting desperately to follow. But even he knew how to take a hint. Aure would want some alone time after all of that. Eythan knew he would, too, should the roles have ever been reversed. He always had been crippled and pestered by emotions he didn't quite understand.

Propping his meal up between his paws and picking at it with his beak, he wondered idly if it ran in the family.