Glorall

Disaster has struck!
Flooding from the north has taken its toll on Glorall. The large tides combined with the increase in water draining from the Ruieze River has flooded the lower regions of the pack. The sandy soil, compounded with so much water, has toppled a lot of trees. Traveling is difficult even when the water is shallower, with the sandy soil below being difficult to find traction on. The daily tides seem to keep the level of flooding fairly consistent, too.

During the low tide, wolves may be able to move around the higher dunes (with some difficulty) but during high tide, the pack is almost impossible to safely navigate. Swimming is possible, but the risk of currants and surges from either the ocean or the river are very real. The island off of the coast of Glorall is untouched by either issue, although it is incredibly difficult to find your way there without being an adept swimmer with plenty of good luck!

Note: Glorall will reopen once 30 posts have been completed (or at Staff discretion). During this time, new threads will receive a 'Surprise','Disaster', and prizes. Glorall is currently not open for challenges.


THE HERE AND NOWALPHA OF GLORALL
Elohim

Return to Lunar Children
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IP: 50.255.120.158

ZHARKO
-lift up your head-

Shadowed pains coupled with fresh stings on his face. Once more put back in his place after his challenge to Blackthorne, Zharko let the calm mask fall once more on his face. He did not need to read Thorne’s thoughts to guess what the other boy felt. He was sure his master and ruler was both enraged and pleased that the runt toed the line. Just as Thorne would be pleased all the anger Zharko held within him simply covered the explosive that a single word could trigger.

He walked silently beside Blackthorne, knowing the trails fairly well until the reached the packland. Strictly working as a loner, he had made sure not to enter any packs so as not to smell like anyone until he would be told to. Keeping up the cloak he knew he would have been held with less suspicion in the event he would be asked to spy on a pack. Red eyes trained forward, and his face composed, he thought to himself: even loners held alliances.

Though it surprised him, Zharko still showed no reaction when his paws touched the changing terrain, merely continued to move forward with his master. In a new place, the small wolf’s nose worked hard to take in every scent he could, eyes also flashing about to take in his surroundings. Blackthorne might have been as comfortable as a king on his throne, but to Zharko this was a place of mystery. With every breath he took, he logged the information into his mind. With every second breath he breathed, he hoped to find some scent of his sister.

When at last they stopped, the pale boy stood obediently by Blackthorne, letting the other spin his webs. There was no surprise when he spread his lies, though Zharko could feel the sting of his words in his heart, and held the pain close as if it was a comfort. He was a son of Aranck, the bastard traitor king, but he was also his own being. The family he came from was not who he was. He did not even know his siblings, or if they were still alive. Heart clenched unseen in his throat. He hoped dearly Zafira was still alive. Blood red eyes locked onto Eden, though respectfully did not stare challengingly into his eyes. This Alpha could know where she was, if she was okay.

Zharko breathed evenly to keep himself neutral and under control.

Eden.

He said respectfully to the Alpha, playing his part without betraying his master.

Truly, there was only one thing Zharko had ever wanted.

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