Her call awakens me as I bask in what little remains of the sun. I listen for some moments as it resonates aross the territory, a hint of another in her voice - it is not just I that she calls for and for a moment, I wonder who else she means to join us. There is a tone of familiarity, after all, and yet none distinct enough to make me rush to her aid. Instead, I take my time to stretch my limbs, sniffing wearily at the pack's territory as I begin my trek towards her. Elohim is preoccupied, it seems, with his temporary possession of Iromar's former princess, a thing I do not entirely understand yet welcome nonetheless; Erebos, it seems, is also just as busy with his own preoccupations, the stale scent of his toys and prizes lingering in the breeze. My youngest are in the woodland somewhere, likely enjoying the follies of the first snow. It is Ehiyeh, however, that I notice missing. Her scent is stale, some days old perhaps, and for a brief moment, I am suspicious. I ought to trust her judgement and yet...one cannot help but become concerned. I have seen her at her weakest. I know she has the potential to succumb to it. I can only hope she does not.
I put the thought aside for now, the new woman's scent intense now as I move along the border's edge at a jog. It is within moments that my eyes rise to meet her rusty form several yards from me; she is Mistletoe's daughter. I know it the moment I see her, her face akin to hers despite the sheer difference in their builds. I know the shade of her fur, a child raised for some time within Glorall. It is with that realization that my head slowly tilts and I pause for a moment mid-stride, considering and assessing her before I lope forward again. Once, I utter beneath my breath in the Latin tongue, always. Those who are born here, it seems, always return eventually. It is our curse as a species, no?