After the downfall of Rhae and Tesseract alike, Daenerys had tasked her lead warrior with assisting her in meeting and welcoming those wolves who sought refuge with their former alphas’ allies. Sleekwing had gladly taken up the duty, and had put himself to use. The influx of newcomers had been startling at first, and while Daenerys took it upon herself to encounter the majority, Sleekwing had lent his help where he could. He had welcomed an old friend, Ailith, home, as well as took up a regular patrol of the borders to ensure no wolf went unnoticed. The best part of the wolves who had come were from Asteraia, though, and something stirred and troubled the Castellan of the mountain. Of the wolves who had arrived from Glorall, none had been a veritable source on Malina or her children’s whereabouts. Some part of him knew that if she were in trouble he would know it, feel it; although something resembling her warmth in his heart twanged in a strange manner, he knew she was not in harm’s way. He did not hold such a bond with his children, though, and even though he was not a particularly present form in their lives, he cared for them. He had to remind himself that they were two now, nearing their third spring, and that by all counts they could probably take care of themselves just fine. They were the children of Malina, after all.

Even so, he worried as a father should. And so, when the arrivals of those displaced from their former homes began to taper off, Sleekwing set a course south. Perhaps they were all still within Glorall, giving the new alpha a chance. Or maybe they had gone to Diveen, where Malina was still their lead assassin. No matter what, Sleekwing was determined to find out where his family was, and ensure their safety. So he crossed the southern borders of Spirane, near the headwaters of the Aplos River, and began his trek south. He loped easily through the sparsely wooded area to the east of the river, and as luck would have it, it turned out his journey would not take him even so far as Iromar before he was given at least some answer.

Eyes of dark blue swept over the land, and there upon the banks of the river a lone wolf walking in the opposite direction to him. Sleekwing stared at the wolf for a moment, though subconsciously his paws began to divert his trail back towards the river and northward once more. Could that really be him? It had been over a year since Malina had brought the trio of yearlings to visit their father for the first time, but Sleekwing was astounded by how much the boy had grown. There was no mistaking him, though, for he bore markings so akin to his own that there was no doubting their relation. Jogging towards him, Sleekwing called out, “Los!” before closing the distance and falling into step beside his son. He left a gap between them, not wanting to intrude on his space, but he could not take his eyes of the boy. The young man, rather. He was nearly, if not as, tall as Sleekwing now, and filling out nicely. One glance at his paws would tell any wolf that he still had growing left to do, and his father suspected that by spring’s end he would pass him up in height.

He allowed whatever reaction Los might have to his sudden approach, but he could hardly contain the questions that then spewed forth from his lips. “Are you alright? Did you leave Glorall? What about your sisters? Your mom?” They weren’t rushed, each asked in turn, but his concern was self evident as blue eyes ringed in lavender were trained upon the hulking mass of his son. He just had to know.