FATALISM

Age would begin to settle unto the man's joints like a silent and unexpected winter. He was healthy and the progression was slow but the cold reality was that in only a couple years he would not be a capable leader; and his children were too young and too ill fitted to fill the role he currently held, Basilisk was much too unpredictable, his allies too aloof. It was in the wake of the very thing he had wanted that he knew he would not have it for long. The man was walking, trotting steadily towards Tortuga borders long before the call erupted in the spacious land before them. The pack's numbers had grown but the land was yet spacious. Hollow. A ragged cough would break his expressionless facade.




His successor-to-be would be another of Isardis' children. The man's secondary alpha had been illusive. It was clear that her ties to Glaciem were too cemented to live peacefully among the redwoods. This new woman's form would fathom itself in the short distance. White. But as the distance closed she was red and yellow and violet as well. His crown would dip in a manor of greeting, jowls parting for speech. Roman. Upward again, his head would become level with her own and haunches would fold in a manor of imitation; taking his own seat and peering at the woman with his own mixture of reflection and curiosity. What do you think of Tortuga?