The silence across the land is deafening — the familiar thud of soft paws falling to the earth is no more, for there is nothing to give chase to. The birds have migrated to the southern regions, and spare for the sparse cry of a raven every so often, there is nothing to be heard.


Dark grey clouds roll above, signifying that mother nature has yet another storm to set loose upon Relic Lore. The sky could erupt at any moment, and if the beasts walking upon her land were intelligent, they would seek shelter as the sharp wind whistles past.


Yet something moves across the quiet lands. The gentle crunch of snow can be heard as hooves sink through the icy terrain, and a grunt emits from the creature. A bull caribou has drifted back in to the Lore, separated from its herd and confused. The wind whips past once more, stirring a deep grunt from the beast as it tosses its head. Its scent trails across the lands now.. perhaps in the very direction of a near starving group of wolves.

Kyros’ limp figure haunted him. Still he could see the boy, so pale, blending to the snow. Frozen. Dead.


His son was dead.


From the moment they returned to the Glen, it had felt hollow; his presence had warmed the very trees that surrounded them. Now, there was nothing. From that moment, something inside the beast had snapped. His temper flared at the smallest things, his muscles bunched; coiled, as he waited for a reason to rid his tension.


That reason was now.


He could not stop from visiting the Hills once more.. yet his paws did not lead to the area where he had found his boy’s body. Something else was in the air – and the moment the familiar cry of Halgen echoed across the land, summoning the pack, he sprung forward. His paws thrummed the icy landscape as he moved in the direction of the others, but before he could even reach them, he could smell it. Food. Viable, living and breathing food. His own cry echoed across the lands, demanding the presence of Magnolia Glen – those that did not come would see his fang at a later date.


He found them – Halgen, Zia and another, unknown male were grouped together. The ivory beast snaked a snarl from his chest, the sound guttural as it echoed across the land. His eyes snapped to Caleb, a grunt escaping him as he strode past the group, loping in the direction of the caribou. “Caleb, Zia, Halgem.. Let’s go. Now.” The other wolf was given little thought – his stance missed, even the scent that emitted from him, which would hint to Borlla’s own. Another pack was of little concern to him – if they wanted to fight for this meal, they could.


But they would have to.


Without another word, he spurned down one of the hillsides, his fiery eyes locking upon the beast as saliva pooled in his mouth.

Triell’s cry was not missed – the ever vigilante brother, the large Tainn had not been far initially, having been trailing his swarthy sibling to see how he was doing. He felt empty himself – he could not look to the cubs, only imagining how they felt, and instead, he had sought the warmth of his mate’s embrace. But he could not hide forever, and so he had slunk away from Aeylen’s side, seeking out the company of the Bend’s only standing Leader.


As he neared the area Triell had called, his own senses suddenly locked upon one thing and one thing alone: prey. The caribou was not seen by him, and yet as he prowled upwards, his gaze falling upon his Leader, the large male released a chuff of worry as he came alongside the ebony wolf. His muzzle would nudge against the obsidian male’s shoulder in quiet greeting, his senses heightened. His gaze would flicker briefly over the other two gathered beside him, uncertain their purpose, and sneering slightly at the scent that emitted from them – they were not of his pack nor of his concern. Looking to Triell, a low grumbling growl escaped him as a white male raced past them, ordering the other two before seeking the likely direction of the prey. “Triell,” he offered, giving a nod in the direction of the other pack’s Leader, his muscles stiffening as he awaited direction. The boys needed the food – the pack needed the food. While his own instinct was to give chase and head them off, he awaited direction: he was no longer the Tainn patriarch.

Every day was just another reminder of what the winter had done to them. The cold had not let up, and what little sun there was offered virtually no warmth. So Serach had no choice but to keep himself moving. His wanderings had been aimless, and in his grief, he had remained aloof from the rest of them. Today, though, something was different. Over the frozen creek, he followed Triell's footsteps, his curiosity piqued by his uncle's adventure outside of their home. When he heard his uncle's call, the young wolf could only picked up the pace. The call beckoned and spoke of food, and Serach's stomach grumbled with want. Even his grief could not override his own natural instincts for survival.

The pale ghost pushed through the snow, his path made easier by Triell's trek. Soon enough, a rather odd assortment of wolves came into view. Triell and Ruiko, and then several others - though none that looked familiar. The lanky juvenile came to stand next to Triell, still small in bulk in comparison to the two large Tainn wolves beside him. Peering at the other wolves, Serach couldn't help but look at Triell in confusion. What were they doing here? Were they going to steal the Oak Tree Bend pack's food?

After a moment, though, recognition dawned on him. There was one among them who looked familiar - the big black one. Yes, Serach knew that smile. @Sceral and he had met the black beast before winter had started. The encounter had not been pleasant, and without thinking about it, Serach raised his lips and growled at the strangers. "Go away," he hissed, the hair along his spine rising.