Fall's arrival has brought with it little news; a challenge had sounded in the north, perhaps, but little else was of notice. It seems almost too calm, too peaceful. I am inclined to believe, however, that it is within my own best interests - and therefore, Glorall's - to use such a time to increase the pack's prosperity. Already, there are wolves that have begun to show ambition, their climb up the hierarchy all too enjoyable to watch from its pinnacle. It seems that even Underidge has garnished some attention from those seemingly below him; I wonder, then, how he will take such a challenge, as quiet as he has been.
It is today that I begin to patrol the borders more diligently, aware that winter's cusp brings with it its own threats. Bears are uncommon, yes, but they are never absent. Glorall is safe from such creatures for the most part and yet I cannot be too cautious. Besides, borders are always an... important place to find new information. As our furthermost reaches, it is there that the scent of loners is more pronounced; one might discern who has been too close, or which packs have sent their little birds to look for their own information. It seems, too, that the borders are not entirely clean - there is a scent among my own, masculine and youthful. And another more familiar musk. Dieloch, I know at least. Or, I presume to at least be acquainted with. Our meeting was a brief one and one he had been sure to hide pieces of himself from. I often wonder what those pieces were; what had made him tremble ever so slightly? His voice had wavered, you see. It was Haziel that was inquiring into such things, or so I was lead to believe. Cunning, I feel, is not lost on a single wolf bred from Heyel's blood, or so it seems at least.
These thoughts serve as a distraction as I lope along the border and towards these two scents; they intermingle eventually, indicative of a meeting of the two. It does not take me long to finally catch the sight of an unknown white male at the borders with Dieloch seemingly haven taken it upon himself to greet him. My eyes assess him instantaneously as I come from the stranger's side, though my attention fixates on Dieloch in those moments. Instinctively, I can feel the tension, a thing that makes the fur along my spine stand on edge; my tail rises and arcs, my legs stiffening as my eyes dig into Dieloch's. It is a challenge. I see the way he seats himself, the way he corners this stranger into two choices; him or the mainland, risking intrusion. I do not understand his motive or tension. I merely challenge it for some moments, taking a slow, rigged step towards him.
It is a brief display, however, and soon, I retract such a step and slide my gaze towards the younger male. He seems composed despite the predicament and, as such, I allow him space, stepping so that I am more so in front of him now. Here, I can watch Dieloch much more closely. For now, however, I meet the stranger's eyes levelly, my head falling into a slight tilt before I speak.