Ah, to think of heirs and such trivial things. I suppose, soon enough, the world will begin to expect that I turn my attentions towards the prospect of growing old gracefully – or whatever it is they call it when a wolf who has held power so long decides to give it over, to give it up. It is an amusing thought, and I consider both Arturio and Avery alongside myself. As far as I can tell, neither have declared heirs either, at least not so openly to name them in rank or announce them by title. Even the younger wolves – Zelda, Kalseru and Nymeria, the Pharoah of Asteraia - have not declared such things. We are all so secretive over it, are we not? Perhaps not. I have sent Elohim out, after all, to gather the names of those that may be curious to taste power. Even then...I have my secrets even in that task. It makes the game of it all just a little more fun to both give and take simultaneously.

Today, I am with Badar. Speaking of heirs, perhaps she is the closest thing Glorall has. I have little doubt that Eva is my blood among her siblings, and Badar leaves little room to doubt as well. Asriel, Shem, Escha, Enoch, Erebos, Elohim...all of my children, besides Kamala and Moteuh who took their mother’s blood, wear similar shades, and even Adonai was born similarly so. Zion and Eira exist in a place of uncertainty, though it matters less than one might think. I would claim them all as my blood without hesitation, but it is folly to think it is true – Arturio was present, after all, and so he must exist in at least one of them. Eira, perhaps, for the brown and cream of her fur. Though such shades exist in myself and kin alike, they seldom present themselves in my own children. But Badar? Well, perhaps neither Arturio nor I sired her at all. It would be believable, I think, to say she was sired by the very sea itself. She was born on land, perhaps, but it is near the water that she truly exists. It is that which makes her Glorall’s truest heir, not her blood nor any particular prowess in fighting or politics. She is simply more like the territory than any wolf has the right to be.

She leads the way, hardly stopping to even gaze back to ensure I am still following. She does not divert from her path, carving through the trees and across dunes alike with dutiful precision. It is the first day in some time that the rain has eased off entirely, though the sky remains dark with only licks of light breaking through the clouds even as midday surely comes and goes. The ground is wet, the trees still dripping water from their leaves and for once, it is the sound of the river that one often hears rather than the roar of the ocean. And it is to the river that Badar leads me.

We arrive, and I take my place beside her as I gaze out over what she has come to show me. I watch her from time to time, knowing she speaks with her body like her mother; beyond the excitement, she explains how she came about the discovery. It seems it wasn’t here only some day or two ago – now, across the river, an expanse of broken trunks and tangles of branches reach out to join Diveen and Glorall. False land, a wooden bridge between two sides of the river. Some of the trees, I see, are surely from as far north of Taviora, likely young and swept away by heavy rains. So, it is true, I think, that the dark skies of Glorall and Diveen reach across Moladion’s whole body. Even now, I watch as more trees and debris join in the fray, the river swirling behind the blockage before being sucked in beneath it, spewing out the other side with a rumbling growl. How long, I wonder, will it last? I narrow my eyes at it. If it remains, it will be quite a bother. That much I can tell.