Things are... quiet. Eerily so, I suppose. Summer is fast waning and I wonder how fast the winter will find us once fall takes hold. There is always an unspoken threat in the coming of the winter and spring. I suppose I ought to take advantage of Moladion's quietness while I can. Perhaps I ought to use this time to seek out Daenerys, curious as to where she has gone during the time of Spirane's new ruler; I did find myself quite... fond of her, I suppose, after all. It is less out of political interest and more out of a personal curiosity, however, and so I should be weary with where I begin to sniff. For now, I turn my attention inwards.
Abel has taken it upon himself to seek out Innana if I am lead to believe correctly. I do not oppose his decision, and in fact, I am inclined to agree that it is a suitable test for him. Keturah, on the other hand, seems content to merely bask in her own self appointed glory. She is reluctant to learn any other way besides her anger. I am tempted to seek her out and yet, I refrain; instead, I merely amble along the coast. Often, the sand lures out others of interest and I wonder if I will find my son there at all. His stay in Iromar has been elongated it seems, his interest seemingly captivated by the marshland. Still, I would not mind to see at least one of my children. They had been born strong and yet, I cannot help but wonder if such strength is capable of wearing away. Like sand, I suppose.
I move along the dunes, or at least half way up there slopes; it is an interesting challenge, my paws forced to dig into the sand in order to keep balanced. Every so often, I pause to sniff at the wind, my attention waning until I catch scent of a familiar child. I should know her scent well, shouldn't I? I had been there when she had been born into her - our - mother's blood. Yes, the scent of my sister surely does pique my curiosity and I am quick to act upon it.
I make short work of crossing the borders and entering the no-mands land beyond; it takes me only moments to find her pale form, a thing so akin to Anselm and myself (a curious thing for, indeed, she is not entirely of the same blood - where, then, did such pale fur come from?). She sits atop the dunes, above me now, and yet she does not seem to sit idly. From a glimpse of her face as she turns to the mountains in the distance, I see... familiar cunning.
With a gruff sound of greeting, I march up the dunes towards her, finding my place alongside her but... always at a comfortable distance. I glance only at her for a moment before I follow her line of sight; far off, I can see the peaks of Spirane. I cannot help but raise my brow, my eyes tracing down to watch her face before I speak.