The Cure is in the Venom

 Wounds still healing on his muzzle from his brush with the badger, he'd taken to eating on his left side, chewing slow and careful to not tear at his healing scabs. 

 He'd found a weasle - more morsel than meal, but he dispatched it with ease and allowed it to quell the stirring pangs of hunger in his belly for the night. 

 He smelled his brother before he saw him. “I'm afraid there isn't enough for two, but you're welcome to join me anyway.”

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The man approached his brother, walking with little purpose. He could smell the fresh blood instantly, though let out a soft chuckle at his brother's words. Shaking his head, he would come to rest near, lounging like a fat bear before hibernation. "Don't worry brother, you know I enjoy catching my own."

He grinned slightly, indicated that he enjoyed the chase and catch rather than the meal itself. "So how has leadering been?"

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 “The Order is finding its foothold here. I'm pleased with what we've built so far.” Madmortigan answered, licking his muzzle again, tongue drawing over the craggy scabs on his left side. 

 “And how have you fared, Melchior? Have you found ways to keep yourself busy?” Of that he had no doubt, but the older brother wondered if there was any usefulness to his sibling's cavorting.

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He raised an eyebrow as his brother's question, faking a hurt look on his face. "Really brother, do you think I just sit around and do nothing? You hurt my feelings." He would chuckle low as he shook out his fur, beginning to clean himself, picking all of the cumulative mud and dirt from his white and black pelt. "I've done quite a bit of exploring while you were focused on the politics. Though I'm sure you know about the pack below us Elkshire, from what I can tell they were pretty boring all things considered, as well as the pack north east of us Nightwalkers, the heathens that is run by a maniac." He would chuckle slightly at the thought, remembering @Vengeance's fangs scraping his snout. "But there is also quite a few packs up in the mountains. One of which, at the lower edge, has really peaked my interest called Empyrean, their young are quite feisty and curious. Above them, somewhere high in the mountains though, is another I believe is called Elysium. I'm not sure exactly where it is, but I met a wolf from there, a healer with a startling love of monochrome wolves named @Harper." 

He thought for a moment in silence before shrugging. "As for the other places around us, I haven't gotten to yet. The plains is much too open for my liking and I would rather die than set foot in the desert." He offered his brother a grin of, 'if you want that done, you'll have to do it yourself.'

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 He did not, he knew Melchior to be an active, ambitious wolf — all the better to check on his deeds.

 “You speak so highly of our neighbors and allies, brother.” Elkshire’s relationship was secured, a well-worn path of familiarity by now. But the Harbinger still courted the dark wolves of the mist. Their hearts were not so easily swayed.

 Madmortigan listened, ears pricking when Melchior’s account turned to the Northern packs. He had been too tethered to his duties here to venture far from the claim.

 He turned to his brother, letting their gazes meet. “Mm. Sounds like I might have a stray niece or nephew somewhere up north.” And elsewhere, he was sure. “I appreciate your account, Melchior. I rely on you to go where I cannot.” Enjoying a freedom Madmortigan was never granted. “See what bonds you can build with these Northern packs. I want to add to our list of allies.”

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He shrugged slightly at the mention of their allies, not really caring for them as much as his brother did. As far as he was concerned, they were simply a means to an end. 

A quick chuckle formed as his brother spoke of children from the north, making him shrug slightly. "Who knows, perhaps I should check on them at some point." He would shrug slightly, clearly not really worried about it. 

However, he would nod at his brother's request, moving to stretch himself out as he stood to his full height. "Of course, I'll depart for the north again shortly, so don't be surprised if I vanish for a while, you know I'll always be back." He would grin and aim to move closer, trying to push his shoulder into his brother, his equivalent to a brotherly hug and probably the only form of affection he ever really did.

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 “I know.”

 Madmortigan returned the rough-edged affection, bumping his head against his brother’s side, going so far as to throw his foreleg over his withers in a half-hug before letting him go.

 “Be well, Melchior. And safe travels.”

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