As of late, Sleekwing had found himself quite content with life. He was neither overly excited, nor dismally depressed. And in his life, he had known such highs and lows. The course of his life had been nothing in the way of grandeur, but he still had a story to tell. He had been in the heights of Solevion when the sky fell. He had wandered the great beyond, protecting his mother, searching for his father. And he had returned home again. He knew the strength of the bond of imprinting, and the pride of being a new father. Idly, he wondered when the three children he had not seen since the day of their birth would arrive in Spirane. Malina had told him they wished to meet him, to spend time with him; and that she wanted them to know about that part of their family. With the arrival of summer, Sleekwing actually found himself growing nervous at the prospect of their arrival. What if they didn’t like him?

To keep himself from spending another day jogging the entire periphery of Spirane in anticipation of their arrival, the heather painted brute set off at a lope moving in a south eastern direction across the land. He reveled in the feeling of his lungs burning as he kept his athletic form moving. His frame was built perfectly for hunting, long limbs allowing him to eat up the ground and his broad chest designed to take a hit. It was why he had suited the role of warrior so aptly. Though he was not an aggressive wolf by nature, he was strong and capable. He had never known times of war, but he had received training not only from his father but also from his assassin imprint. If danger ever came knocking at Spirane’s door, he was more than prepared to defend his home and the mountain’s inhabitants.

Nostrils flared, drawing in oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide as he pushed himself just a little bit farther. His destination cropped up in his view as he broke through the line of trees that bordered Spirane to the south, and he checked his speed, slowing to an easy lope. The crags grew larger before him, and he downgraded his speed once more to a jog. As he reached the foot of the western edge of the crags, he finally slowed to a walk. The exertion felt good, and his sides barely heaved as he had slowed his pace in stages, allowing him to catch his breath and his heart rate to slow.

He moved along the edges of the crags, eyes darting back in forth in search of a fresh pool of water. Much of what he spotted was stagnant pools, and so he leapt up to the rocky second tier of the crags. Well, if you could really call the disheveled layers of rock tiers. There he was rewarded with the presence of a small waterfall that had trickled down from the lake, creating a small, fresh pool of water. He lapped at the liquid eagerly, quenching his thirst. Satisfied, he turned away from the water and stepped forward to the edge of the rocks, reclining upon his hindquarters and simply enjoying the heat of a summer afternoon upon his glistening steely gray pelt.