Bog touches his jaw gingerly as he picks himself up from the ground. It isn't broken and he doesn't think any of his teeth are loose but it is definitely sore.
He watches the enraged female re-enter the winter burrow before retrieving his royal scepter. He'll have to deal with this later. He's already late to start the hunt and the festival. Directing his attention to their subjects, he gulps as he notices the displeased glares directed at him.
It wasn't his fault that she couldn't join them!
"Move out," Bog orders!
"Bog," his mother growls.
"Not now, Mother," Bog groans.
"Yes, now," Griselda comments, walking swiftly beside him. "You need to go back and talk to her."
"We're already late," Bog argues. "Besides, she won't listen."
Noticing the budding argument, Bog twitches his wings into action and calls the hunting party to follow as they exit the inner entrance. His can't contain the spark of laughter at his mother's yell of frustration. Having wings when your mother does not does have its upside.
He'll deal with it later.
"Or maybe I should have dealt with it then," he mutters lowly hours later.
The noon sun beams blindingly from its position in the mostly cloudless sky as several members of the hunting party haul their catch to the large sett near the farthest range of the kingdom. He ignores the frustrated and upset grumblings behind him as he keeps his pace steady. He knows full well that his subjects are still upset with him for upsetting their queen since they aren't being quiet about their displeasure.
"Sire, I have a suggestion," Romulus comments.
"As long as it's not another complaint," Bog mutters.
"Since the hunt took longer than usual and we didn't catch any prey for ourselves," Romulus starts, accusation lacing his voice. "Maybe it would be a good idea for you to join the females at the Sacred Spring while we continue. We wouldn't want to impede your royal duties."
Bog snarls at the toothy goblin before picking his pace up. Worst of it all is his own frustration and the consequences of it. It was ridiculous. Him, a grown goblin that's been hunting since he became of age and they manage to lose three plump hedgepigs because of his lapse of attention. He really hopes Auld Broc has good news.
"Auld Broc, are you well," Bog hollers once they reach the sett's entrance?
For a few moments there is no sound except the wind blowing then a sandy-red badger boar ambles into the opening. He grunts and snuffles for a few minutes at his company before sniffing at the four dead hedgepigs appraisingly.
"Seasons greetings to you as well, Auld Broc," Bog greets. "I apologize for waking you at such an hour. How fares this Imbolc day?"
Auld Broc grunts and snuffles some more before grabbing the hedgepigs and disappearing back into his sett.