Crisp autumn air had started to touch lightly on the world around them. Frost started to brush the falling leaves with its sweet butterfly kisses. At least it did in the freelands to the north of Iromar. The moors themselves seemed to hold fast against the approach of the colder weather. At least it did to those who did not know the moods and shifts of the land itself. The mists began to thicken as warm moisture from the waters hit the chilling changing air. It cooled the lands and wrapped Iromar in a blanket of mystery and awe.

Pine bounces through the twisting trails of the moors. Her steps were practiced and certain, clear that she had walked this world for years. She barely needed the ability to see through the mists to know where she was going. Her face and her senses were still forever alert, however. Just because she knew the path did not mean it did not change. Nor that there was not danger lurking just below the surface of the water, the reeds of the marshes, or around the blind bend in the thick of the clouds. She had become the protective Imp of Iromar, but never would she claim to rule it. The land deserved more respect and reverence than that. Still, today she needed something from her home and she knew just how and where to find it.

With her nose to the ground the Imp trotted passed places she knew many of her pack had come to call home. The dens had started to pop up and dig deep. Every passing day more seemed to settle into the new Iromar. The pack was still small, but a content peace had fallen over the moors along with the mist. Pine waved her tail in satisfaction at the thought. Nothing could truly wipe away the blood that had been spilled or the horrors that had gripped this place seasons before, but time would eventually heal the wounds. Scars would always remain though, they would never forget. Shaking her head, she continued her thoughts of growth. A wag of her tail and she continued her trek. The time had finally come, she thought, for her to move out of Mavrick’s den. She figured after the third or fourth time he had woken up with her paw in his face she should let the older warrior get some rest. In addition she did not completely trust Mavrick’s threats to eat Cenna were entirely made in jest.

For a moment she had considered digging out a space next to the open field filled year round with flowers. The ground was high and dry, a meeting and playing place for the rest of the pack. It was the most central location and the safest for pups to play in and elders to forget their woes. The space was a place of shared stories and shared lives. By living beside it she could absorb the joys and energy of her pack and keep an eye over everything. Her nose twitched. These were all the reasons she purposefully turned away from the common field. It was a place for the pack. It was not her’s. Instead she turned down a little known path, often muddy and moist. The ground was almost never seen, even from her low viewpoint, covered in a blanket of mist and fog. She made her way deeper into the heart of Iromar. Before her a raise and a ridge was covered by fallen logs and thick reeds twined with water flowers. They came together to conceal and opening from sight. Smiling to herself, she entered the den she had found and had spent seasons working on. It was high enough on the ridge water would not enter unless of a flood, but low enough it was still hidden in fog. Spacious enough she and Cenmetl could reside comfortably, but small enough their combined heat would warm it on those rare cold nights. Grinning to herself she circled a few times, rolled on the packed dirt ground, and shot back out of the entrance once she was on her feet again. Her body was filled with joy she could not help but roll and leap around her new home. In a sense of play she shared her scent and her being with the spot, making it as much of her as her a part of it.