Winter was far too close and he felt hardly prepared for it. In the winter months, much of the shore pack became desolate - prey moved inland and those native to the sands seemed to move away entirely only to return in spring. It was a bothersome thing to have to venture further out to find substantial prey and part of him hoped they'd not have additional mouths to feed come spring lest they find more to fill them during the colder months. Their numbers were small, stable but small, and he had much to ponder on that. Perhaps he ought to venture out come to the winter months to offer aid to those that needed it; he'd never liked winter, not truly, but perhaps that could change. He had hoped to have the chance to spend more time with Leviathan to show her the wonders of how wild the sea grew in the cold and yet, she had seemingly been blown away in the gusts. It seemed like women in his life had a habit of doing that, starting with his mother and followed by his mate and children. Winter just served as another reminder of the harsh, jagged side of life.

But, he'd had enough of thinking about that - at least for now. Instead, he wished to think on something much more fulfilling: what had Mortz and Riopat been doing in preparation for their ceremony of sorts? He hadn't heard much more on it but he had grown curious about it all. In fact, he had taken to the borders come the warmest hour of the day in search of any late blooming flowers that might have foregone the seasonal change. So far, he hadn't any luck though the more resilient plants still framed the dunes and sandier outcrops. He figured that would have to do - if anything, it celebrated Glorall. Of all the wolves, perhaps those two had been here the longest. It'd do them well, and he made sure to note the location. It was a familiar place and yet, a voice so unfamiliar seemed to find this the appropriate time and place to summon him. He could not help but cock a brow.

He waited for some time before he began to move off, allowing the girl's silent to settle; he had to be sure she had nothing more to add, for her tone spoke of a strange thing indeed. It was youthful and yet solemn, a sound he could only compare to Riopat's own the day she had come mourning. Had she come bearing dark words? Her scent betrayed her - the bogs, the marshes - and yet is still piqued an insatiable interest. Iromar and Glorall had always lived in a relative neutrality, only ever stepping on one another's toes once or twice though both counts had been minor incidences. Rogue ensured a relative peace with the pack, as did his former affiliation. So why had they sent this girl? Surely they knew that all of Moladion was aware of the unfortunate circumstances that had befallen them? Or perhaps she came bearing news of Rogue? Instinctively, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he came into view of her, breaking into a lope across the sands.

He stopped some five feet before her, his tail arched slightly upwards in dominance though he attempted to soften his features into something more welcoming. He had never been too good with strangers on the border and yet, he cracked a small half-grin, his eyes quickly finding hers. As per their rather peculiar customs, he did not speak. Instead, he merely waited in patience.