He was a wolf white like fresh lightning, yet his movements were almost liquid like a smooth stream. There was no sun in the sky to illuminate the world, and only a sliver of a moon to give the creatures of the earth sight. It was a night quiet, a night full of terrors with sharp teeth. Anselm was only one of these creatures as he roams through the tall trees of the covered woodland.

He had learned the ins and the outs of the woods. It was a second nature to him. He knew there was a fallen log only a few yards to his left, and patch of wolfsbane growing close to the border of Asteraia- although it is growing dead and dormant now with the coming of winter. In fact, winter was already coming, already here and he could smell it in the cooled air. It had grown colder and colder each night. It only made him push his body more to feel the heat of his own meat.

Recently though, the scent along the Asteraia border has morphed. He had considered his 'home' to be the woodland next to the hilly pack, although he was a free man. He went where he pleased, and disappeared into the shadows like a dream. Yet the woodlands were more interesting, and it was easy to notice that the large red female whose scent would litter the border no longer was around. Life was an ever changing cycle. The weak were overthrown and the strong prevailed. He never cared much for the pack life, he never was one for bowing to another. There was a certain...strength in numbers though, strength and power. He could blend with the pack, and perhaps, get what he wanted with no repercussions from others. Yet where would he find a pack that reflected his own preferences so perfectly?

He was driven to the border, his nose inhaling the new scents that litter it all around. This night was filled with stars, a landscape sparkling in the darkness. He was where the trees break into the flat world, but he did not step into the border of the pack. He simply took in as much information as possible, with his orange slashed violet eyes keeping watch.

Things were different now. He had known that Eden recently took the land of Glorall for his own, and perhaps soon the white terror would visit his brother of blood. Melek would probably not be pleased with such a visit, and he knew she likely lingered not too far. She was never too far. Yet this land, he did not know who claimed it. After a moment of staring into it, he turned, back into the shadows cast by the slightest of moonlight. There was prey to be had, blood to be spilled- and pack politics were only interesting for so long. Ultimately, the stomach called, and his paws would pound on the ground in the ceremonial hunt for a feast.