More often than not, the stones held the man’s attention; when he wasn’t patrolling the borders he was amongst the stones, near to the Mother Stone most frequently. As time passed, he found himself growing tired sooner than he used to, forcing him to cut his patrols short; truthfully, he knew he should give up the task altogether and leave it for the younger generation to take care of but he just couldn’t break away from it yet. As much as his body ached and demanded rest, he wasn’t ready to admit his age—as prideful as his father and grandfather before him, Kove could not so easily pass the mantle.

The elder was returning from one of his patrols when he happened across the child, seemingly walking but to where he was unsure. Unfamiliar with her—but understanding that she belonged there, familiarity clinging to her pelt—he chuffed in greeting as he grew nearer.

The manner in which the girl spoke made her appear nervous. Kove kept some distance between them, allowing her however much space she may like. And when she introduced herself, he said, “I’m Kove.”

It was for only a short while that he lingered, exchanging a few more words with the girl. Thereafter, he dismissed himself, requiring rest.