Dated 11/4 - Sunny, noon.
Random Event: Willow Ridge, beavers are attempting to dam up your water source.
Something was wrong with the river. The boy had come to it to quench his thirst, the banks intimately familiar to the lonesome child, and yet as he stood upon them, black leather pads sinking into the mud, it was clear that something had changed. It took only a few sweeps of his ghostly eyes to know, the water level had dropped. Perhaps this was natural? It seemed everything around him was changing as of late, and he had been told that this was simply Autumn, and that things would only continue to get more and more strange. There were seasons through which time cycled, and only summer existed within his memory. This new knowledge left him dismissive of certain matters, such as spying oddly colored florae and sporadic, odd weather patterns.
Yet he could not recall being informed that the water would wither away. In fact, it had seemed to be rising, what with the increase in rain and diminishing of the sun's absorbing rays. Curiously suspicious, Sven chose to investigate, following the curve of the stream. It took a small while before at last he found it, the cause of such trouble, and the pieces all fell into place. This certainly was not a simple Autumnal matter, this was malice! A growl crept up the boy's throat as he looked ahead, witnessing the trespass as it was carried out, the audacity of it flaring up the hellish inferno within him.
A structure consisting of varying pieces of wood stretched across the stream from bank to bank, the barricade clearly diminishing the water's ability to flow. Sven could foresee within his assuming mind a complete cessation of the current, drying up a great portion of the water source if such vandalism upon their land was allowed to continue. The culprits seemed easy enough to chase away, except that their were several of them, and the boy was hesitant to approach without first knowing exactly what they were. Fat, was certainly one descriptive term, but what short of teeth did they have? Were their claws sharp, or dull like his? The sting of his shoulder and flank reminded him not to jump in without these answers, but how would he find them?
The adults should know, he concluded decisively. All he needed was an older packmate to come help him out (just this one), teach him what these things were and how best to eliminate. Then, if any of them ever dared to trespass and fuck with their water again, he could deal with matters all on his own. Turning around on his heels, he trotted away from the bank, putting a decent amount of distance between himself and his newfound prey so that his summons would not startle them. When satisfied, he threw back his head and let out a howl, asking for anyone nearby to assist him with a little hunt.