Traveling the world at such a young age age had been a poor choice for the wayward pup. His bone deep call to see what was around him became quickly matched only by the pulsing need to return to the grounds that had born him. His stil awkwardly big paws carried him back to Moladion and he could breath a sigh of relief when he felt the familiar sand between the pads of his pale paws.

Lingering on the brink of Glorall, the gold and pale boy hesitated at the edge of his home. A moment of hesitation, contemplation, he sent up a single ringing note to his family whom dwelled on the beaches. His sister, at least, he knew would want to know he was back. An ear twitched, followed by a twitch of his nose and he turned away from the packland. As sheltered as he had made himself while he was here, there was no secret to the gathering come spring. Uncertain if his calling beckoned him truly back to the shores, he turned toward the mountains.

As he padded through the trails, he could feel the hum of young energy through the dirt. The gathering of scents called to him before even the sounds of gathering puppies could reach his ears. As he approached he still lingered along the outskirts of the gathering. These were the rising pups of Moladion, his generation and his brethren. To each he looked to the faces and bodies and read them, uncertain if he should approach or not. Having been gone for seasons, having lingered between worlds in Glorall, he was one between from the rest of them. Even in his body, though still clearly a pup, had seen the effects of wandering on his own. Thin, and fur slightly matted, he did appear as though he had just sprung like stone from the earth around them, the grey and gold muted by travel and dust.

Curious, and still enjoying the twists and turns of the bodies before him his copper eyes watched as fate laid down her cards to capture the souls of the wolves of Moladion.