The pale creature moves like a roll of thunder across the grounds, head high, unsure of what to think. What to think, what he knows. Head high, eyes bright. That's the thing, blue and gold, but pale. Stands out like a ghost in the grey summer dawn. It's just breaking, and he's already away from the den. Far from the den, far from his parents, his siblings. Far, far away from him, the Dancefloor of the Gods. Exploring, learning the borders and the boundaries. The winterborn is not graceful, but he is strong. Grey. Around his shoulders, it hangs. The summer sun hadn't risen quite yet, starting to wake over the sleepy grounds. Dew in the high grass, clinging to his sides as he traipses forth. Head hanging on his shoulders, relaxed. Eyes wide and bright, trying to take in as much light as he possibly can. Trying, he supposes. It's a light jog for a large frame, gaze bright, moving slowly. Always slowly, rolling, nearly lazy about his gait. Today would be fine, Torin had already decided. Fine. Frankly, no more and no less. Hulking, but even. Careful, but curious. TORiN bet you'd be disappointed

He'd gone out for an early morning stroll, nothing on the agenda really for the day, just...wandering, he supposed. Life was simple here. Life was...calm. Quiet. Lonely/ in a sense. He was glad at least, that he wasn't truly alone. He was surrounded by others who lived together as a unit. Though quiet the pack could be at times, he knew everyone led busy lives of their own. He was glad even mores so, that he had family here. Faite and...well well, one of her kids? Yes. He recognized the pale pup from the first Lirim meeting, one of Faite's five children. He appeared to be somewhat of an oddity, but the pale boy would not find himself shunned by him. Not like his father had done to him when he was a child, no. Rin was far different than his tyrannical sire. He altered his course and headed towards the boy, a friendly wag of his tail and a small smile on his visage. He couldn't quite remember which of the five children this one was, but he hoped to remedy that today. "Good morning, stormcloud." A nickname, for now he supposed. The boys pelt did remind him of the clouds that gathered before they let loose a torrent of rain and thunder. "Speech"