A single stalk of tussock bent against the morning breeze, at just the right angle to brush the end of my nose. For a moment my eyes remained closed and I wrinkled my nose, snorting at the tickling tuft, but it only lifted for a moment before gravity and the breeze pushed it back against my nostrils. Violet eyes opened to greet the day, and I lifted my head from my paws. The sun was beginning to peek above the horizon, casting brilliant hues of pink and orange across the sky. My toes flexed in the sand as I stretched the sleep from my forelegs, extending my head forward as I pushed my hindquarters towards the sky. Leaning forward my posterior dipped back down and my shoulders pressed forward, extending the muscles over my back until I relaxed into a shake, ridding my fur of the excess sand. Turning inland, away from the subtle sound of the morning tide rolling in like clockwork, I leapt up to the higher dune that had sheltered me as I slept. My nostrils flared and I took in the smell of a crisp new morning.

That was when I knew something was wrong.

I stood rigidly still, my eyes closing as I let the power of scent overwhelm me. It was a faint change of aroma, something that one might not even notice if they were not paying attention. There were the usual scents of sea salt and sand, and the trees and soil that lay beyond the dunes. The smell of pack was prevalent as it had ever been, many wolves who called Glorall home spread between shore and shrub. But mingling with such familiar scents was the metallic scent of blood, and beyond that anger, and worst of all – fear. Something had happened in the night, something had shifted. I didn’t know what, or how it affected me, but I immediately opened my pale violet eyes and set off down the dune at a flowing lope towards my father’s densite.

As sand gave way to soil, my strides remained silent, carrying me with a practiced precision that would allow me to evade anyone who might be listening for a wolf’s advance. It had taken me years, but I was finally nearing my absent mother’s ability to move in utter silence. When Cersei’s strained howl reverberated across the pack lands to me it confirmed what I had scented – something was very wrong. My steps did not falter, instead gaining speed as I flitted through the territory towards their inland dens. I had abandoned my den in the same region long ago in preference for sleeping near the sea.

When I was within twenty strides of approaching their den I slowed to a jog, and then a walk. I surveyed my surroundings as the smell of blood grew stronger, not willing to endanger myself by rushing into an unknown situation. Even so, my walk was a quick one, suddenly desperate to know how badly my father had been injured. The fear that he might have been killed jumped into my throat, and in an effort to suppress what I knew by his scent could not be true, I finally emerged from the surrounding brush to see for myself. He lay on the ground, blood matted in his ruff and his leg badly injured. For a moment I stood silently looking at him and then my eyes shifted to Cersei. Despite all I had learned in life, the art of healing was not among the subjects I knew well, and I was grateful my elder sister was practiced in such things.

After a moment’s hesitation, I stepped forward and moved to Tesseract’s side. I lowered my head and placed a single lick of comfort upon his upturned cheek. He had always been a vision of impenetrable strength to me, and my opinion of him was not lessened by what I saw now. No wolf was invincible, even if a daughter would like to think so of her father. All that mattered now was the bonds of our family. Family; I lifted my head and glanced around, panicking at Praetor’s lack of presence. Was he within the pack lands? He often roamed Moladion for one reason or another, but I wanted my brother at my side now more than ever. I took a deep breath to calm myself, remembering that it had only been minutes since Cersei had called out, and I stepped back to allow my father room to breathe.

I did not need to ask to know what had happened, I could piece the fragmented picture together in my mind. The injuries my father had sustained could only be the result of a battle for dominance, and the scent of regret mingled with the tangy odor of blood told me what the result had been. My father had lost his throne. The question now was, “Where will we go?” For it was always we, because we were family. The idea that such a thing might be shattered in the wake of what had happened clawed at my heart, but I did my best to remain strong for my father’s sake. After all, Cersei’s stress was all too evident, and I did not wish to add to such a thing.