Something about being a part of this was strange, at least in Torin's head. This was his family. This was his obligation, this was what he happened to be bound to. That was what family was for, right? Some part of it made sense. Supposedly made sense. There's a careful thinking in the mind of the pale creature. He's so pale. Christ how on earth did a creature come out so pale. Pale yet prominent, standing so immense and proud. Steady on his feet. Steady as always. That would be the thing Torin would have to hold to himself, right? He'll always be steady. Right then, the creature decides for himself. So he peers out over the Valley, wondering what exactly there was for him here. He wasn't terribly far from the den, but maybe far enough for someone to worry. Not like his scent was covered, not like his tracks hadn't been out in the open. No, he was standing at the very edge of the Emerald Valley, looking out at what would become his home. A prince of this place, yet another child. A child of the light. The pale child would wear that goodness like an iron collar for the rest of his life. It is only as a child that you begin building a reputation like the one he wanted. The day was warm, and winter was nearing an end. High noon brought sunshine, a thawing in the bones of the winterborn. Torin's title would click into place-- that was it. The winterborn. Sunshine wouldn't do him much good. Born of the frost and the cold, but standing pale against the light of day. Gazing at the Valley and waiting. He would know himself in time. TORiN bet you'd be disappointed

Winter was almost over, yet nothing struck the young red male as odd. To him winter was everlasting - it was the season they'd been born in and he couldn't imagine being in anything other than a land of sparkling snow. So when the powder began to turn to slush it began to worry the young male. Was the world melting? Was this natural? Where was it all going? Would he disappear like that too? He didn't feel like he was melting, but then again his fur was beginning to shed in small patches. Maybe he was doing his own kind of melting?! The fact he was probably going to wither away into nothing upset the russet boy. Who was he going to tell first and how did he stop it?! His mother wasn't in the den when he awoke that morning and Zell and his siblings were asleep save for Torin who was notably gone. He sniffed around for a moment outside the den to see if he'd gone outside nearby, but was disappointed when he didn't see his pale brother. He padded off in the direction a few small slushy paw prints headed and then followed his instincts (which really weren't all that great yet). It wasn't long before he barely picked out Torin's rosy pale fur out among the melting world. He was eager to ask Torin how they were all going to avoid melting, but he easily forgot when he realized where they were. They were on the edge of the valley - so close to being in trouble if their parents ever found out. They weren't allowed outside the pack borders yet. "You're not gonna go that way, are ya?" He questioned his sibling warily. Walk, "Talk" Think

Torin had been considering it, that was for sure. The thought tossed in his mind, a toy ship among the waves. Still, he would obey. He would listen to the rules, he would play by them. His shoulders were cold, and he wouldn't venture off yet. Not yet. They were in place for a reason, and it wasn't his place to challenge them yet. Though the hulking child is an outlier among his litter, he's not going to be cut from them yet. He will not stand away from his siblings. When Ruaidhri comes up, Torin visibly cringes. The silence of his morning had been shattered, and his gaze is cold upon his brother's face. There's a tinge of annoyance hanging in the air, as if the creature appearing has become an interruption, a burden. There's something frustrating about the perfect child coming around, the one that never stumbles or trips. It sets Torin, with his brawler's build and oversized paws, on edge. His hackles don't go up, but he is measured. "Why would I?" The words are short. His tone is clipped. There's something about the winterborn child that is... cold. Icy. His head turns away, the pale young man wandering on within the pack lands, daring his brother to follow. TORiN bet you'd be disappointed