Fall had come to Glorall's shores with a spectacular display of golden leaves to the west of the territory. At the shores, the seas had been an aggressive presence. Waves had crashed along the sands in great numbers, swelling to tremendous sizes further out towards Glorall's personal island. At some points, he had worried for those that had taken a liking to the island. However, each morning he had moved to check on their well being and each time, he was met with the knowledge that they were much more resilient than he had expected. He had been sure to warn the mother's of the pack to keep their youngest away from the sands. If the seas had taken adults in their full strength then surely a child would be nothing more than a mere snack. He doubted anybody wanted to deal with that kind of turmoil.

Fall had also brought with it the presence of his daughter once more - Octavia, at least, though Maradona remained absent. Praetor had been occupied which he supposed was a good thing, for his son had never been content merely meandering about the pack without purpose. Things had been good and finally, he had begun to feel good. He had begun to regain the flawless confidence of the past, particularly with his fur having grown finally over his scars, though perhaps it bore a rougher texture. He made an effort to make himself look less disheveled but ultimately, he had learnt to wear the remnants of his scars with a pride of sorts. How many fights had he been through now? Seven? Eight? They seemed endless at times. He feared for the day he would begin to dream of violence, a stark comparison to the composed and even temperament he desperately wished to retain.

Come the rise of the morning sun, he too had risen from his den. A storm had rolled through the night prior and the occasional branch had broken from its tree and now lay strewn across the tousled grass. He had even found sand at the mouth of his den though he had been sure to make his home further enough from the dunes to avoid it. The storm must have been a powerful thing and yet, seemingly, he had slept through it with little concern. No rain, perhaps. Nonetheless, the storm had left one thing for the wolves of Glorall besides from its path of destruction.

After having spent some moments stretching, he had quickly taken off at a lope across the flats. His stomach stirred with a day old hunger, beckoning him to break the natural fast his kind seemed to fall into. He had always been thankful for his slight size, he supposed, for he seldom needed to take down the largest of prey to sustain himself. It was only when all the bellies of Glorall grew hungry that he need worry. As he rose over one of the dunes, he looked over the sands of the beach. They had been savaged by the sea, the sand all shades of colour and built up into a ridge along the midline of the shores. It was beautiful in its own way as the morning light illuminated the sea into shades of turquoise and silver, their calmness startling against the ravaged landscape. Beautiful, he supposed, a half-cocked smile across his features. Whatever the case - he was hungry and he supposed others would be, too. There was a bounty of critters littered across the shores now. With a stiff wave of his tail, he called out for his pack to join him, though perhaps a part of him hoped one particular wolf might show.