Too many voices had been something that had plagued Wormwood often lately, but it hadn't been because of voices in his head. He was no stranger to those voices, the ones that brutally reminded you of your past, slipping in every moment of cruelty, every trauma, and every embarrassment that all mixed together in one noxious concoction that filled you with nothing but negative emotions and panic. Worm had been well acquainted with them in the past, but he liked to think that he had slowly moved past those particular agonies. He no longer heard the voice of his father in his head, whispering softly to him about how he was an awful person, how he'd never be the son that Aethelwulf had hoped for, or Judith's voice reminding him of the awful attempt he had made on his brother's life. No, now instead of voices, there was an odd silence. A sharp silence mixed with loud static that ruled over his body and every lucid thought, crushing them and marking them as useless. That was what had happened oh so recently, when he had attacked Trojan at the border and nearly killed the invading Pittian, being so achingly close to committing the deed until eventually others arrived and made him pause in that course of action. Ultimately it hadn't meant anything, considering Beck had finished the job, but Wormwood liked to think he had made the right decision.

One very unfortunate thing that had happened as a result of his violent side taking over had been the fact that he had seen Roy running away from him. His son, the boy that he loved more than anything else in the world, running away from him because he was disgusted with what his father was doing, fearful of what he had become and what he represented. After that, Worm had gone into the woods and cooled himself off from the incident, although it hadn't exactly been in the most orthodox of ways. After the whole incident with the bear, Wormwood had just been relaxing within the town, keeping to himself, fearful that he would end up hurting somebody else that wasn't a Pittian who had already attacked one of his clanmates. The thought of viciously brutalizing one of the members of his family like he had done with Trojan made a shiver go up his spine, and he shook it off, deciding that he had quite enough of staying cooped up inside on his own. It left him far too much time to just stew in his thoughts, and that wasn't something he wanted to do right now. Not when everything was such an awful jumbled mess.

The hellhound had been moving slowly through the territory, still getting used to the fact that he only had half of his gaze available to him. He wanted to think that maybe eventually that would change, once he got back to his old lion form, but for some reason an odd sort of sick feeling came to him whenever he thought of that. He took in another slightly anxious breath as he put one clawed paw in front of the other, his gaze trained on the murky swamp floor beneath him. Before long, however, a familiar scent reached him, and he lifted his head in curiosity, looking around for his son with a searching gaze of both excitement and fear. Excitement because this could finally properly be an opportunity to be able to explain to Roy what had happened, and to convince him that his father wasn't just some bloodthirsty monster, but also fear. Fear because what if Roy didn't want to be his son anymore after seeing that? What if he accidentally hurt Roy somehow? Gritting his teeth, the male decided that he had to believe nothing like that would happen, if he were to ever approach Roy – or for that matter anyone – ever again. After all, Wormwood was a social creature. Without the other members of Tanglewood that he considered family, he would just end shriveling and dying, starved of the love and the kinship that they provided. Starved of others that he could help.

Moving towards the source of the scent, Worm eventually came upon Roy traveling through the woods, the formerly flaming tiger still thankfully not on fire. Another worry of the older hellhound had been that his little outburst set off Roy's flames yet again, but that didn't seem to be the case, and Worm felt a little proud warmth in his heart before he shook it off quickly, continuing his assessment of his son's wellbeing. It seemed like there was an odd new air about Roy, something that Wormwood couldn't quite put his claws on, but it seemed as though there was a faint sort of glow that surrounded the tiger. He wasn't aware of the horrifying memories that Roy had been forced to recall so recently, but he still felt like he needed to comfort Roy somehow. It felt like something was both wrong and right at the same time. Perhaps it could be attributed to the fact that he was still pretty fuzziheaded himself over everything that had happened recently, but he still urged himself forward, his hoarse voice beginning to speak, "Roy... ah, Roy, I'm so glad to see you again..."

His eyes trailed down the tiger's sides, and he was suddenly made aware of the stench of saltwater in the air, along with the fact that Roy was standing in front of him, wet and probably cold. Or perhaps not cold, since it didn't seem like he was shaking, but Wormwood was sure that the other would probably be freezing if it wasn't for the fact that Tanglewood was so humid at all times. This was one of the few times that Worm was glad for that, and he allowed himself only a moment of pause in his speech before continuing, "I'm glad you're okay... I wasnt sure where you had run off to after what had happened... why are you all wet? Did something happen?" He couldn't help the concern that seeped through into every word he spoke, his ears pinning back a little as a single golden eye took note of everything on Roy's body. He took stock of everything, making sure that Roy hadn't been injured in the time they were apart. He had to admit that he was being a bit paranoid, but he couldn't help it. He felt so awful, and the thought of Roy running away from him only to end up hurt only filled him with more grief and guilt.

Time passed on fleet feet when one was confined to a small space.

What seemed like an hour was in actuality a day.

A day, a week.

What hurt the most was that there were not a plethora of options before him to alter the route he traveled, especially when this close to his utter demise. Either he: A) keep to his own devices and blow the limited life that remained in to his name, or B) venture outside, interact with others, properly assume the role of Proxy, and live life on a twenty-four hour basis. The options were situated on a seesaw level of difficulty. A was perched on the ground, with Leroy's lean posterior taking a seat on top, leaving B airborne and impossible for him to obtain all on his lonesome. Frequently, he'd push himself off the ground, relishing in Option B's clarity. Yet he always came crashing down to where he began, as staying on the elevated option was all but achievable.

The least he could do was try.

Try to get some fresh air, form bonds with others, experience what life was all about even if it meant diddly shit in the long run.

Today, there was an unnatural coolness to the soil that marinated his paws - an indication that the summer's decease was imminent. The more ground covered by his stroll, however the more he began to recognize that the atmosphere's frigidity wasn't due to temperature; something was up, something was wrong, and it altered the ambiance's attitude.

Something off yonder.

Someone off yonder. Two people, actually, both of them standing across from each other. Wormwood in the fore, facing an individual whom the Proxy hadn't become become acquainted with - or hell, even met - yet. Damn, if only he hadn't been all cooped up in the Roux household, he'd have a better idea on who was who. Upon closer inspection, the unfamiliar individual's sopping coat was painted with a skeleton design, which was pretty badass if he didn't say so himself. A solid moment had passed before Leroy could fully comprehend that the source of the iciness derived stood a fair length away. And it didn't exactly stand out to him; the boy simply emanated an aura that didn't sit well with his gut.

Truthfully, the canine knew not how to properly respond to the scenario. Roy, as Wormwood referred to him, obviously meant a great deal to the hellhound. Furthermore, he could infer that an event had occurred recently, once that greatly perturbed the feline. But, that's the most he could acquire.

His paws shift uneasily. Would his presence be welcomed? What could he do to help the situation?

The boy. He was wet, and as far as the mongrel knew, being wet was perhaps one of the most uncomfortable sensations once can experience. Clearing his throat in a subtle attempt to announce his presence, he slowly encroaches on Wormwood's person, before offering, "Could grab a towel if need be. Y'know, for th' wetness."

He readied to disembark for when the hellhound gave the go-ahead. If the hellhound gave the go-ahead, that is.

When Roy fixed him with a distant gaze, seeming more in his head than out in the real world, Worm felt his worry grow even more, and he wanted to just reach out and wrap his arms around the boy, pulling him close and comforting him. However, he held himself back, not wanting to seem too terribly overbearing. Sure, he was usually a well known worrywart, but that didn't mean that he wanted Roy to be embarrassed by him. Eventually the young tiger finally spoke, his words quiet and so calm it almost startled Worm out of his panic. I think I fell into the ocean. I don't remember why. The words that came forth from Roy's mouth just made Wormwood shift nervously, not liking the thought that Roy had just disappeared off on his own, and now he couldn't remember why he had ended up in the ocean. It reminded him almost like what he had been like after his raging state, when his mind had been full of fuzz and he hadn't known where he was going or what he was doing. Thankfully Roy hadn't done as stupid as he had done – after all, he had gone off and hugged a bear, while Roy had just taken a dip – but Worm still felt confused and anxious as he inspected Roy, gently prodding at him with his nose and being especially careful not to nick the tiger with his horns.

Once he was suitably sure that Roy wasn't injured, he pulled back and glanced at Leroy, who had helpfully offered to go and get a towel. Not only was he glad to see Leroy out and about, rather than just cooping himself up inside of the Roux household, but he was also happy that the proxy was offering something so helpful. He opened his mouth to go and tell Leroy to grab a towel, but Roy was talking again, surprising Worm and making him turn. He was telling people not to worry, but the mere act of Roy speaking so much made Wormwood worried in and of itself. It wasn't that he was sad that Roy was talking more – he loved encouraging his son to get out there more and interact more with the rest of Tanglewood as a whole – but it seemed like such an abrupt and odd change, especially since the last time that Wormwood had seen his adopted son, Roy had been looking absolutely crushed and horrified because of what Worm had done to the Pittian. However, it seemed as though that incident was just a far off past in Roy's mind, forgotten in favor of being more focused in the morning – although he honestly didn't seem that focused.

He glanced between Leroy and Delilah for a moment before shaking his head at Roy, barking to the young tiger as he sat back on his haunches, "We're gonna worry about you, Roy. You're my son, and their clanmate, and you're all wet. You're gonna get sick if you just stay in this state..." It wasn't as if Roy could just will his fire alight to burn off all of the water clinging to his fur, so Worm turned to Leroy and mumbled softly, thinking, "Can you go and grab that towel for him? Thank you for offering... oh, and can you grab my cloak? I have it sitting right to the right of the door inside my home... it can keep him warm after he's toweled down." He didn't want to trouble Leroy too much, but he also knew that the other male probably liked being helpful right now so that he didn't feel useless, and plus Worm knew that if the Proxy honestly didn't want to help, he wouldn't have offered. He wasn't exactly the type to not tell you to fuck off if he thought you should fuck off. That honesty was something that Worm liked about Leroy... usually.

Glancing back over at his child, Wormwood questioned as he glanced off over the tiger's shoulder towards where he knew the shore was, "So... you fell into the ocean, but you don't remember why? Do you remember how you got there?" He hoped that Roy did, since it would alleviate his fears at least a little bit. It would be more understandable to him if Roy had just taken off and had accidentally ended up rushing right into the ocean while he was upset, than if he had just walked off into the ocean for no reason, and now couldn't remember why. As he waited for a response, the hellhound glanced at Delilah and questioned softly, "Hey Del, you know what kind of things could cause possible memory loss, right...?" He knew that Delikah used to be a medic – and still seemed to want to be, somewhat – so perhaps she could see something in Roy's state that Worm hadn't caught onto.

Ears perked for the whole of the hellhound's address, his noggin softly nods at Wormwood's concluding instructions. Grab a towel, as well as a cloak. He allows the directions to sink into his mind for a second, his earnest gaze falling upon the boy for the a moment.

Roy. Wormwood's adopted bundle of joy. Soaking wet on the outside, though his mind appeared to be desert dry. The feline's facial expression was visibly tainted with monotony, and the manner in which he spoke was rather square. He made a habit of reading faces, as one's face spoke more truths than the mouth. And seeing that the youngster failed to provide a sufficient amount of information (aside from how he'd fallen in the ocean), the canine believed that this was a situation where his skills could be put to good use. All in all, the kid wasn't too much of a hassle to figure out. Beneath the decorative bones that daubed Roy's exterior was a boy robbed of a proper childhood, until now. That's how the wolfhound perceived Roy, at least. Assuming that such was the case, then he offers his condolences - 'twas an unfortunate path he was forced to traverse, as well.

A turbulent wag of his mug shook his stare off of Wormwood's child, allowing the male to focus on the task at hand.

Grab a towel, as well as a cloak.

"Back in a jiffy," he mouths quietly, momentarily projecting his gaze towards Delilah, before making way to the nearest towel.