Leaves that were once varying shades of vibrant green were gradually changing into the bold, warm colours of fall. There were not many just yet, only a few here and there, but for as minimal as the shift was he had taken notice; it was time for the temperatures to drop, another change in the seasons that he was to live through. Heaving a heavy sigh, he settled back on his haunches and gazed upwards, wondering how long it would be now until the snow returned. Would this year be just as unusually cold—for him—this year, as it had the last? This thought he pondered whilst simultaneously cursing his aging body, up until the sound of approaching footfalls drew his attention off of the matter.

Valette’s form became apparent as she neared and he smiled in response to her approach. It felt like ages since they had last been able to sit and truly speak without any interruptions, so he was particularly glad that she’d sought him out. “Hello,” he returned before glancing at the rabbit and adding, “You should keep this for the children to help them grow. I can already feel that winter’s just around the corner.” His grandchildren were his priority now, which meant ensuring that they received more food than what was truly necessary—the more fat they had on their bodies, the warmer they would be throughout the winter, after all.

“Âha, of course that is okay.” As he spoke, he adjusted his position so that he was sitting up and facing her, weary eyes holding a glimmer of attentiveness yet. “PiKutenngai? Suguset?” he asked, then followed it up with, “How are you? How are the children?” He hoped they were all well, especially little Leta—at such a young age, she had already experienced so much. He hoped, for her sake, that the rest of her life would lack such extreme situations.

She insisted that the children were plump enough as it is and that he should have the rabbit. Although he still was not entirely convinced, her remark about their hunting lessons was reasonable enough that he complied. “Alright, alright. Thank you,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Perhaps I can help with their hunting lessons. I think I still have a good few runs left in me.” More so since children were often taught with small game. Besides, it felt like ages since he’d last had the opportunity to safely partake in a hunt of any kind, large or small, with others; tracking and killing small game for one’s self just wasn’t something he felt he could count as a legitimate hunt. However she may respond, he respected her reasoning anyways and tore into the rabbit, starting from the abdomen and working his way into the thorax. Although small, the skull was still harsh enough that he left it behind, along with any hide that was easily stripped of meat alone.

As her brows furrowed he realised the error in his words, the language lost on her. He offered an apologetic smile after the fact and silently reminded himself to be more mindful; as he aged, however, it was not as easy as it once was to keep the languages separated. Despite having been taught both at around the same time, Kove had spent his developmental years up north, surrounded by family members—some of which only knew the northern language, having never taken the time to learn the common tongue. Still, he would try. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing well,” he commented, mind coming back into focus on the conversation at hand. “If there’s anything I can do to help, at any time, please let me know. I would like to do all that I can here. You and your children deserve at least that much.” He had a lot to make up for—and he wanted to be a part of the lives of his grandchildren.

The children were doing well, a comment that brought a wide, joyous smile to his face. Leta had endured so much in just a moment’s worth of time but, thankfully, she was still with them. “Something like that has a way of changing us, especially children,” he commented. “But she will grow from it, I am sure. It will be a thing of the past in no time.” He hoped. He hoped she would not carry it with her throughout her life, not when she had so much living ahead of her still. If anyone could help her through it, he was sure it would be Valette—she had all of her mother’s best qualities, after all. “It’s good you have someone to help you.” He wished he could have been the same figure all those years ago, back when it really mattered the most. But he was glad that the same fate that befell his own children would not carry over to his grandchildren. His grandchildren—

“They sound like they’re all coming into their own,” remarked the elder. They were all well, yet she still seemed concerned for young Clay. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing that she worried for her son per se, only that the reasoning behind it was not something that he, personally, would be bothered by. “All children are different,” he said. “Sometimes their environment does not matter when it comes to how they behave. But I’m sure he will grow out of it.” And if he didn’t… well, Kove assumed that would be a bridge they’d cross if they came to it. His children were all gone now, many having either paid him no attention or having been taken from him before they could, but he’d been around pups enough to understand that they were all vastly different. Even those born from the same womb and raised alongside one another, under the very same conditions, could end up mirror opposites. That was just how children were—some acted as their parents believed they should, whereas others did not. He’d learned long ago that it was best to not try and change them one way or the other.

“I’m well,” he continued with, answering her query. “For the first time in years, I feel like I can breathe freely.” Every choice he made, every step he took—none of it was watched. No longer did the Inuk spend his life wondering what lurked in the shadows or who was lingering at his hocks, just waiting to knock him down and take over. The discord that he had spent so long living with was but a distant memory now, gradually being replaced by new, lighter experiences. Finally, he could say that he was happy. “But no, I did not hear about it,” was his response that followed. “Who was it?” Had he missed out on something? He could not recall having heard a summoning to defend the land, so he hoped it was not someone whose presence he should have met.

Although Kove was not sure whether or not the children would have greater respect for his lessons, he was still glad that he would be able to offer some. He was still getting used to being a grandfather and tried to recall whether or not he had acted any differently towards his grandparents, only to realise that the situations were not exactly the same; his grandparents had essentially become his parental figures following the passing of his parents, so his respect for them was not exactly something to be compared to. Would her children be more mindful of his lessons, simply because he was grandfather instead of father? He supposed he would find out.

When called old and told to enjoy it, he chuckled. “I will enjoy it by helping my grandchildren learn,” he decided. “No point in living this long if I can’t share what I’ve learned with them.” Wasn’t that the point of living beyond childhood, to experience more and then pass that knowledge to the generations that follow? He wished to be able to do that, to teach them as much as he knew, until he could not any longer.

She went on to explain who had visited then, the answering surprising. “Xan was here?” he asked, attentive. Why had he not called for him? Then again, did he even know he was there? The elder couldn’t recall. He wondered why he had come but wondered more about the state of his mind. “How so?” the man asked, brows knitted together. So much had happened with his son, much of which he knew nothing about because he was never told, but to hear that he was unwell now… what had finally pushed him beyond the point of return?

Kove remained silent as she spoke, listening closely and taking into consideration each piece of the story. But the story was not complete, even when she reached the end, being as it was only a single side. The man raised his son on his own, to the best of his abilities, but even he could not always pinpoint a reason behind his actions. There was a time once when they were close, speaking often and exchanging trivial things; he used to teach the boy, going over lessons with him regularly, but then things changed. All of sudden, Xan grew distant, kept to himself and avoided all that he used to regularly be around. To this day, the elder did not know what caused such an extreme change in his son.

“I do not know what happened to cause discord between them, and I will not excuse his actions,” he began. “But I will recommend that you go easy on him.” There was something off with the eldest child, there had been for a long time now. “Alexander today is not the same kid he was when you two were younger. I was able to see him grow after he left with me but something happened. Something… stunted that growth, I suppose you could say.” Preoccupied with his own position in the pack at the time, and by his own eagerness to move forward and keep the pain from fully hitting him, he never took the boy aside and spoke with him. That which bothered him, what altered him so drastically, was never brought up. Kove assumed that he would eventually speak-up once he felt comfortable doing so but the days kept passing, and then Xan was gone, the woods left behind so he could live his own life.

Now, he regretted not beginning the conversation.

“I don’t know what changed him and I don’t know how he deals with others anymore,” he continued. “We never spoke about it. But he’s still a good kid, despite everything. He just didn’t get to grow up the same way you did.” Maybe he would have been better off, had he not followed Kove. Or, at the very least, maybe Desna would understand him better and be able to help him, seeing as his father never could.

More a stranger than anything else. It was not surprising to hear—Alexander had not grown up with his sisters and their mother. He had followed Kove back to Blackfeather instead, and it was there that he was raised and there that he changed; he always wondered what the cause behind the shift was but never found the right moment to ask. His eldest liked space and had been that way since his youth, so space was given—but perhaps doing so was a mistake.

“I’m sorry he is a stranger to you,” he said, although he knew an apology meant little in comparison to a matter as big as the present. “If I could change how everything happened back then, if I could go back and ensure that you four stayed together, I would.” Would growing up together have made things easier on them? Would Alexander not have been a stranger? Would whatever event that plagued him have ever occurred? There were so many questions but no answers to complete them; the elder could not travel back into the past, nor could he undue any pain caused.

“Thank you,” he continued, knowing there was little more for him to say; there was nothing to say that would change a thing, after all. “For giving him the benefit of the doubt. I hope that someday you two can be siblings again, instead of strangers.” Perhaps she would be able to get the answers out of the albino that Kove never could.

How different things could have been; he often thought similar things, mind wandering miles away, lured along by falsities. Things could have been so different in his life and the lives of his children—but when he tried to imagine a life with Scarlett still at his side, the images grew blurry, faded. He missed her—so much so that he could feel his heart aching at night when all that was there to listen to were his own thoughts. Yet, those images faded nonetheless, dragged away by time and impossibilities. “I’m glad you turned out the way you did,” he commented. “That you found your happiness, despite everything.” Truthfully, that was all he could ask for anymore: that his children be happy.

The comment on their age was to be expected, yet the elder was not made any less hopeful by it. “Even things broken several lifetimes ago can still be mended,” he advised. “As long as both parties put in the effort.” In the end, it all depended on them; he could not force his children to get along, especially not when they were raised in such different environments, learning opposite things. But whilst he could not influence them, that did not keep him from wishing in their favour—seeking better lives for them, with bonds stronger than those of the north.

“You remind me of her—your mother,” the man continued, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But your daughter… I think all you need to do is look at Arlette and you’ll see your mother staring back. Your own reflection, too.” Scarlett lived on through her daughter and granddaughter, he was certain. “Memories fade over time, sadly… but we can still hang on to some of them. Those that we treasure the most.” And in those treasured memories, perhaps she could see her mother’s face again.

Speaking of Scarlett brought back memories, good and bad; he missed her terribly, the ache in his chest settled even before the anger of grief faded. He often wondered how life would have turned out, both for himself and his children, had he stayed—but the past was far behind them all now, and he knew it was something that he must live with. “I think she would have loved it here, too,” he said, a trace of a smile playing across his lips. “Easthollow is what she always wanted: a family. I think she would be proud of you for achieving her dream.” He certainly was. After all, it was something that he was never able to do himself.

At the mention of helping with the children, he could not help but chuckle. “I can picture your mother helping with your children,” he mused. “She would have been so happy helping them grow.” And she would have done a wonderful job at it, too—the proof of that stood before him now. “I don’t think I can do the same as well as she would have been able to, but I wouldn’t mind helping,” he offered. “As long as they are okay with it.” He expected there to be plenty of other things that they would rather do than hang around with some old wolf but, nevertheless, his offer was made.

“I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else,” he told her. “It took a long time but… I think I’ve found my final home here with you and your family.” The call of the north faded from his heart more and more each day—and, eventually, it would linger no longer, replaced by the faces of his family.