There were, on occasion, days that Alaric felt envious of the children in the Thunderlands. They had it all; lots of friends, full bellies, and, most importantly, living parents. He had had none of these things. The feline grew up alone with only his mother for company. Prey was not plentiful in their area of the woods for many parts of the year. And his father was dead.

    Moth and Selby's kids, Aurum's kids—they would have everything they ever wanted. They did had full, complete families, and they had luxuries such as a library and a tavern that was stocked with all the food they could ever want. They had friends and siblings, neither of which Alaric grew up with. His only friends were the few books that his parents kept, especially after his father died and his mother grew distant.

    Perhaps that was why he chose to look out for the children of Tanglewood. He was envious of them in those ways, but he also did not want to see them suffer from the same trauma that he did, even though he would never call it trauma, and would decidedly not dwell on or acknowledge the impact that that event had on his life. Ivan, in particular, was the child that he was most interested in protecting, himself having long ago acknowledged the intelligence that the child seemed to innately possess.

    Presently, Alaric was leaving his home, beckoned out by some force that he could not place. The same force called him closer towards the center of the town, where his eyes landed upon the lanky black child that Alaric had just been pondering on. The tyke's head was held high and his chest was puffed with feigned confidence as he marched through the town. A slight smirk made its way onto the tabby's features as he approached the younger feline, who appeared to be busy with making himself look, well, busy.

    "Good afternoon, Ivan," spoke Alaric, closing the distance between the two. "Looking for anyone in particular?"

    Himself? Alaric found himself blinking in pleasant surprise, slightly shocked by the smaller feline's speech. The tabby was unsure if he had ever interacted with Ivan on such a level that the child would actively seek out Alaric, but it seemed that at some point he had.

    Seeing the child here brought back a few memories of the day that he had come to join Tanglewood. Ivan, albeit a slightly younger and smaller version, had been the first to stop him in his tracks. Back then, Alaric had been but a mere trespasser. He had no idea yet that there were groups of animals out there besides his family, and finding his way into Tanglewood was but a mere coincidence. But, by discovering him, Ivan had, in a way, been the first to welcome Alaric into Tanglewood, whether the child knew it or not.

    And now that very same tyke was proposing to take him to some so-called "herb hotspots." Ivan was one of the several offspring of Selby and Moth, so he could not say he was surprised that the black feline knew of places where herbs grew. Well, the child had not outright offered to take him there, but Alaric was capable of reading through the lines.

    "I am, actually," responded Alaric after a moment, his blue gaze staring directly into the child's own green-blue hues. "Would you mind leading me to them? he would inquire with a slight tilt of the head.

    Unlike the many growing families within each group, Alaric did not grow up with siblings. According to his mother, he was the product of a failed litter in which he was the sole survivor. He'd been sickly for the first few weeks of his life due to the lack of warmth that having brothers and sisters provided, and his mother had been unreliable due to a sort of postpartum depression that came about as a result of the stillbirths of so many of her kits. He may have even died if his father had not been around to guide the queen into nurturing her one living child.

    Perhaps if the tabby had grown up with peers like Ivan did, he would not be the aloof and distant feline that he was today. But his parents had instead made the decision to settle in bumfuck nowhere where little more than wild game and the occasional feral dog roamed. Friends? Nowhere to be found. Family? Only his parents. Alaric would never admit it, but somewhere deep inside of him, in a visceral, unknown area, he would have liked to have grown up with a friend or two, or maybe a sibling. Someone to talk to other than a mother who grew increasingly more depressed after the death of her mate. He'd felt bad for leaving—that was one of the few times that he had actually felt somewhat of a pit in his stomach—but he couldn't stand listening and watching as his mother wallowed in her own misery.

    It was for that reason that he found himself to be jealous of Ivan (although he would never, ever admit it). In a way, he was reminded of himself, with the child possessing an acute intelligence as well as seeming to share the same coldness that Alaric harbored. He often found himself a shade fascinated by the child, if not outright intrigued. Of the children in Tanglewood, Ivan was easily his favorite, and the one he tended to make an unconscious attempt to keep an eye out for the most.

    He padded alongside the four-month-old, a faint smile gracing his features as the child described the herb in question as well as enthusiastically stating that he was going to lead Alaric to the site. He wasn't quite sure what Ivan meant by  "long with tiny little leaves," but it probably wouldn't be too hard to figure it out once they arrived. As for his favorite, though? There were so many that picking just one was pretty difficult. After giving it some thought, he arrived at what he considered to be a pretty basic answer.

    "Goldenrod," the tabby stated, glancing inattentively at the tyke. "It promotes the clotting of blood cells, thereby stopping or slowing bleeding." He didn't know if his use of medical terminology would go over the child's head, but he certainly hoped that that would not be the case. "Do you have a favorite as well, Ivan?"

    Unlike Ivan, Alaric chose not to dwell on the philosophical. He greatly preferred the realm of science, and clung to it like a child clings to their parents. He found a sense of grounding buried in his medical journals and worn biology textbooks that the classic stories simply could not convey. He could not see the purpose in founding one's morals upon what some dead human had chosen to scribble down and publish. Instead, he chose to develop his own morals, even if in the end it meant that someone might disagree with him and the way he thought. Deeper meaning was an afterthought—yes, Alaric was perceptive of underlying thoughts and motives, but he chose to ignore them. If someone can't come out and say what they want to say, what's the point of trying to pry out a real reason? Frankly, Alaric didn't have time for that, and he didn't really give a shit either.

    The tabby glanced at the younger feline as he spoke. Ivan's unfondness for plants wasn't a surprise. Growing up surrounded by two medics who cultivated their own herbs, and whose entire jobs revolved around application of said herbs, it no big shocker to Alaric that the child didn't like them. They tended to have powerful and pungent aromas, although some (like lavender) were generally pleasant.

    What did surprise him, though, was Ivan's sudden dart forward into the underbrush. It caught him off-guard, and for a moment he stood there just like that before realizing that he was meant to follow. And so he did. Alaric emerged on the other side and was greeted by Ivan's voice. The tabby took one look at the plant before recognizing it as thyme, a topical disinfectant. It had its other uses, but it certainly was not his favorite. "This," Alaric began, "is thyme."

    He was momentarily taken aback by the tyke's question. Icy blue eyes regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. Was he really going to tell someone so young the real reason why? No, he decided eventually, wanting to keep it vague so as to not scar the kitten. "There was, at one point, a time at which it would have been nice to have," the male stated carefully so as to not slip up or mince his words.

    Ivan had a point when it came to not wanting to sit around and watch as someone died while all forms of traditional medicine failed. That was a guilt that, despite his tendency to push it down, Alaric didn't want to feel either. Thankfully, his mentor had taken it upon himself to begin teaching the tabby how to operate surgically. He had a lot to learn, but he was already showing promise when it came to working on an operating table. When traditional forms of medicine failed, surgery seemed to be a reliable alternative when the issue wasn't strictly pathological.

    "I didn't live in a group before this one," Alaric responded, watching as the child plucked a few thyme leaves to take with him. "And yes, I concluded that the moment you told me you didn't like plants." He took a moment to collect his next few thoughts before speaking again. "I understand how hard it can be to look into someone's eyes while they're dying, knowing you can't do anything to help," the tabby spoke, his gaze drifting to stare off into the distance as he recalled memories of his father's final moments. He shook the thought away and refocused his gaze upon Ivan. "But there are certain other ways of helping someone who's sick."