Fox's Glade you look so cool

( ･ω･)ﾉ

Ever so steadily, he made it known that the valley was his once more. Though this time around, he was a prince no longer, but a king in every aspect of the word. It was not beneath the rulings of either parent that he’d live, but atop of all things with his head held high. It would be his word, and his word alone, that he would answer to, taking for himself that which had always been meant to be passed on to him: the throne of Bearclaw Valley. But the task was far from an easy one to complete, given just how long he had been away. Those that had once lived there were around no longer, having taken along with them to either their graves or their new homes the memories of the valley and those that once controlled it. His existence—his status—was one of those memories, he had realised, but it was one that he fully intended to breathe life back into. For even though those of the past had gone away, he was still there, and he would ensure that neither his name nor his lineage remained but mere whispers of something that once was.

Determination burned through his veins like a fire might decaying forests, unable to be tamed or suffocated. Alexander knew all that he must do, and had an idea of how to do it, and so it was out beyond the walls of his fortress that he ventured. At the front of his mind, he knew not where he was going, nor did he intend to set for himself any particular destination. And yet, despite this, he found himself trailing along familiar walkways, his legs carrying him in the direction of the one territory that bothered him so. It was there that his fear had been remembered, but also where the memory of his birthright had been reawakened, thus leaving him with conflicting feelings—feelings that, as he neared the territory, all faded away. The scent that wafted from the area reminded him that he could allow himself to focus only on one thing: ridding the neighbouring lands of vermin.

And so, upon entry, he unleashed hell.

The albino chased and snapped at all that which moved, spilling little blood but filling them, instead, with fear. Fear of what could be, and what might still, as he would always make certain that his home not be raided by such lowly creatures. But as his desire to issue warnings wore away, he was left feeling little more than a dull ache in the pit of his stomach. It was shortly after that, that the true hunt began, his nose leading him towards his next meal: an old reynard with fur that had long since lost its vibrancy, and aches in his bones that left him with a limp. And though the old were wise and to be revered by all, Alexander hesitated for not even a second prior to tearing out his throat, and wasted even less time before dining on the freshly created carcass.