In this world of ours

There was a warm sort of quiet to the Armada, a Warlord who found himself surprisingly fond of peace. His children were growing older each passing day, more so then he liked, or was comfortable with, but he was proud all the same.

He enjoyed the early morning warmth on his coat as he pulled himself from the den and made his way towards the borders of his pack. He started the patrol from the connecting border of Weeping Woods, and made his way down towards the sea. Soft grass changed to coarse sand beneath his paws, and the scent of growing things became one of salt and sea.

He glared at the water with more distrust then he did the dark trees. Even with his WIfe’s help and tutoring the art of swimming, his dense coat did not make the feat an easy one. He always felt one second away from drowning every time he tried.

He moved away from the sea, glancing towards Deathbelle’s island as he moved his pass across to the section of his territory that touched her Shrine. The distance along seventy percent of his border was a brisk trott, and woke him from any last lingers of slumber, and he paused on this border as well, scenting and searching for anything amiss.