Freckle is deeply glad his guardian obliges, and although he knows the pride lands like the back of his own paw by now, he still lets Bruno lead the path as he falls in-stride. The rivers and creeks that sliced into the territory of the mire were plentiful, even at this time of year.

He isn’t the first to speak up as they pads side-by-side, too distracted by the bitter flavour and lingering taste-scent of basil invading his sinuses. But Freckle glances up with a curious lift of his brow to listen.

“Mm,” he grunts, thoughtful, “I guess I don’t really know what tha’s like.” he admits with a puzzled dip to his brow, “I hadn’t really thought’about it.” He had Bruno to rely upon, and it hadn’t been til recently when he’d talked to Imrae and found such a fascinating difference in their lives he’d realised their arrangement had even been unusual. He’d been so small when Bruno had found him. The boy didn’t even remember a life before; the Mire was his home through and through.

“How come y’ askin?” he prods with a twitch of his whiskers, amber eyes searching.

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While he was met with no such mockery, Freckle expressed uncertainty, which sat like a pit in Bruno's stomach. It seemed he would have to drive the encounter after all, only the brute was not sure where he would like it to go.

“How come y’ askin?”

How come, indeed. He twitched his whiskers as that stream came into view, giving only a toss of his head as instructions for the boy to drink.

"Well, you're getting older," Bruno pointed out plainly. "It's kind of now or never. I won't leave you if you say no, but I don't think I can make yearlings official Stärkes if you change your mind." Perhaps the why would come inevitably, but some rules of the world could not be explained. At least, Bruno did not have the answers. He lowered himself into a seat once more as a wave of thought passed over him.

"My surname is Stärke-Rike. But, I won't give you the Rike part – trust me, you don't want it. Being a Stärke could get you places in life, give you power, but being a Rike..." Bruno trailed off in a moment of hesitation. "That could get you killed." With his gaze latched on the boy, he frowned.

"It's hardly my fight. It's certainly not your fight." He would conveniently exclude the part where he was certain his mother would sooner kill the boy than give him the name. Erna's judgments were not exactly nourishment for the adolescent mind.

"You don't have to, Fleckchen. But, if you say yes, I would be your official guardian. You could be a prince like me, someday. If you say no, I will still look out for you until you don't need it anymore." Not want but need, for Bruno would not know how to coddle someone even if he tried. The prince fell into an uneasy silence, finding he could fill the air no more; Freckle would have to answer one way or the other, and Bruno could not help but feel himself bracing for rejection.

---

@Freckle

Freckle listens as he dips his head to drink, letting the cool crisp water of the stream wash away the bitter flavour of basil. He doesn’t interrupt, even as he straightens up and licks his whiskers dry, a patient and contemplative look upon his spotted face.

It is recognition, he understands as Bruno lays it out clearly for him. Less of a chance to fade into the background, be forgotten - again. It is new to him because even his birth parents hadn’t wanted to give him a name, let alone a family one. He’d - with Fang’s help - named himself. The idea of being left out is intolerable, even if it is vague and unformed.

And it would give him power, Bruno says.

”You don't have to, Fleckchen.” “I want to.” he says abruptly, as if it is a fleeting moment of an offer that will be snatched away unless he grabs it now. In some ways it will change little, and in some ways it will change much.

Freckle had never been afraid of change.

“I want to be one of you.”

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“I want to.”

Just like that, the tension brewing within Bruno's chest melted away. The prince blinked at the revelation, an involuntary smile stretching at his lips as he regarded the eager cub. There lay the main difference between the pair: while Bruno required several business days to agonize over making the perfect decision, Freckle seemed to pull answers out of the air itself. More startling to him was that they did not seem to be any less correct.

“I want to be one of you.”

"You are," Bruno found that same finality in his tone, as if already arguing with anyone who dared say otherwise. "Fleckchen Stärke," he titled him. A sparkle of something managed to surface above the official baritone of his voice – a glimmer of joy, perhaps, or pride. No one had ever chosen to be Bruno's family before, he may realize someday: had only begrudgingly endured the task of it. Not Freckle. He hoped not ever Freckle.

Clearing his throat, the lion reached out an arm to try and punch it roughly against the boy's shoulder. That's enough emotion for today.

"Got rid of your basil breath?" He probed with a smirk, turning to continue their excursions elsewhere.

---

-exit- @Freckle

There isn't always such certainty in the boy. But on this there is no second-guessing, a level gaze settled to await Bruno's reaction. His answer makes a warm, secure feeling blossom within his tan chest and a wry grin flashes to his jaws. He felt seen, respected. Accepted. It is all he has ever craved.

He shoves back wordlessly, playful to Bruno's push and nods, taking the fleeting moment for what it was. He didn't need more. "Yep!" he confirms to his ailment, muzzle clearly un-greened. He bounds forward into the underbrush with a fresh enthusiasm for the world.

/exit Freckle

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