He did not dislike Regan as he disliked so many others. He understood her, in some sense. Her lack of words appealed to his mind, her instinctive nature made her easier to read, to understand, to achieve that balance between them that he so often struggled to seek in the company of others. There was a wildness to her that some part of him so readily delighted in and yet he is the last to approach her even though he had, perhaps, known of her existence well before wither of his companions. There is a stiff-leggedness to his initial approach, his spotted, tawny form held slightly rigid if only to anticipate any action upon her behalf the deviant boy so having assigned himself as guardian of all he deemed worthy of guarding and in turn those golden eyes that so often seem to see so little remain fixated upon her until her own form seems to relax. His own approach softening now into something far more companionable. The boy aware too, of Tetradore relaxing behind him as if the panther had (perhaps rightly) anticipated some exchange of claw and fang in which Tobias was so often content to put others in their places. There is a lack of aggression in Regan however, one that soothes him in turn, though his irritation at the affection shown to her by the others stirs more readily within him still. Such favour with Raven and Tetradore in turn so assures he will hardly bring her any harm, if only because he hardly wishes to displease his mate and chosen Alpha and yet that jealousy in turn, that lack of attention upon him seems to cause some measure of discord all the same. One that Regan, it seems, is aware of in turn as only those whom so understand that which is unspoken seem to do.

A purr of sorts rumbles within his throat as she presses her head beneath his own jaw, Tobias brushing his form the length of her own to layer her with his own scent and to reaffirm those bonds of pack and their places within it. The single return of his own name is all the boy truly seems to need to see his favour in her restored as he turns away, brushing back against his mate before smacking his head into Tetradore's own in that sudden display of affection and a rarely seen good mood as he settles at the man's side. The conversation that follows is off little interest to him, Tobias rarely given to find interest in words. The letters and syllables meant little, his attention returned only at the shift or change in tone from one to the other as his ears flickered atop his head and yet his attention quickly waned, those golden eyes fixated instead upon the earth and the scents that laced it. His mind wandering from that idle chatter though his senses remained alert all the same, ever-aware of what existed around him before he stood once more to pad a few feet away, eyeing something of curiosity within the grass before proceeding to pounce on it, huffing, only to pounce again on some distant shadow or imagined prey.

It was only this mention of 'celebration' that saw his feline head return to glance towards the others, tail flicking once more in some moment of curiosity at those words that pressed softly upon his mind. He understands, on some level, the meaning of the word and yet his understanding is perhaps hardly more advanced then Tetradore's own lack of knowledge on just how to celebrate such a thing. His mind so seeming to struggle with that consideration still.

With.....eating....yes.

Eating, after all, was something both Tetra and himself did well.

madness, as you know, is like gravity: all it takes is a little push