Spirane was always the first place in Moladion to feel the touch of winter. Even as autumn did its best to grip the rest of the lands, snow began to accumulate in the peaks. Slowly this had a tendency to push some wolves down the mountain to safer ground, where they did not need to worry about being snowed into their den as they slept. As the snow fluttered from the sky, I rested peacefully upon my throne. Though I had originally laid down with my forepaws outstretched and my head resting idly upon them, as I drifted in and out of sleep I had curled in on myself. Wrapping my paws around and underneath myself, I had tucked my nose under my tail. Snow peppered my silver pelt, giving me an even more so gradient hue than normal. A slight breeze picked up, separating my long winter coat to reveal the black the hid beneath, and with the snow resting upon the tips of my fur it appeared as if my coat started out black and faded all the way to white on the outside. My ears twitched to and fro every so often, and though I dozed lightly I was always conscious of all that was happening around me. A hare that darted from one hiding spot to another. A pile of snow that grew too heavy for the upper boughs of a tree to wear, giving way and allowing it to fall to the earth.

It was nothing in particular that roused me, simply waking from the on and off again snoozing that had taken up my morning. My nose parted from the warmth of its hiding place under my tail, and the first cold inhalation I took caused my nostrils to flare and my pupils to constrict. I blinked a few times, glancing out over the bright snow that now held firm even this far down the mountain. Winter had well and truly arrived, and a yawn escaped me, the heat of my breath clouding the air with vapor. I watched it as it dissipated, and then finally chose to rise to my paws. Shaking the majority of the snow from my pelt, I turned and leapt down from my perch. A few flakes still peppered my fur, though my body heat would quickly melt them away. Even so, the continuous, ethereal falling of the powder would pepper my bodice time and again, replacing that which had previously melted and vanished.

As I moved to the south, intending to begin at the further corner of my home and make a complete round of the borders to ensure that despite the changing weather it was well known that these lands were spoken for, I began to muse on whether or not winter would have a lasting effect on Spirane. Not in the sense of an avalanche – the likes of which I saw once in my youth – or the freezing of much of our drinking waters. No, instead I considered if, for the first time in two years, we would hear the mewling yips of pups come spring. I had my doubts about whether Niviaq and Pan would conceive again, but I was given to wonder about some of the newer shewolves that had joined my ranks. I knew that Attila held no one special in her heart, for surely she would have shared such lovely news with me. Thankfully Haven and Idunn were too young for such acts, for I could not bear the thought that they were starting to grow up. But then there was Church and Natu. I was unsure just where Natu stood on the spectrum, for often I scented the mark of Fenrir upon her fur. And what of Church and Ragnarok? I mused on whether or not their deciding to spend the winter upon the mountain might be attributed to some plan to create a family.

Though the notion of the possibility of pups upon the mountain once more warmed my heart, it also reminded me of the emptiness that I still felt. Always, when I thought that I had moved on, something would remind me of him and a hollow ache would resonate within my chest. Would I ever know the love that ran so deep that I would wish to create new life with another? As the thought meandered through my mind, I moved into the foothills, and suddenly I spotted the stark form of another wolf. His dark form was unmistakable, with the streak of white running along his throat and chest, and the matching patch over his ruff. Butterflies ensued, ruffling my tummy in a way I had not expected. But I was thrilled to see Jericho again. I picked up my pace, jogging towards him only to realize that he was pacing the border almost mechanically. Moving no quicker than a fluid jog, I made my way closer to him, and the nearer I got I began to realize something was amiss. Mahogany eyes narrowed and I realized that the snow in his wake was discolored, red marring the perfect white. And then my eyes trailed up his form and I realized he was the source, wounds seeping blood from his face and shoulder. My eyes grew wide and I hastened my jog, bringing me to him as quickly as I could without breaking into a run.

I wasn’t sure if he even noticed me coming, but I stepped into his path and lowered my head to the same level as his as he mindlessly trekked back and forth. “Jericho,” I said softly, lifting my head only when he had acknowledged me. “What happened? Who did this?” I felt a familiar fiery emotion well within me, suddenly wanting a name and a place, a description and a scent so that I could hunt down whoever did this and take a pound of flesh from them for their crimes. Whoever had done this to him would pay for it at my tooth and claw.