the stars have forgotten, the moon is wiped out

Slade had been keeping a close on the land after he had come back from his little trip. Especially after the talk with Burk. Several wolves enter, and most never leave. 
What had become of his once cozy little lunatic home?
Speaking of which,

Another soul had appeared. 
From the recesses of shadows he had watched the pacing, but dismissed it as a wolf that has gone rabid. But this dark female stank not of the sickness of foaming death, but a death of a different kind. Grief. Lunacy.
Beautiful.

From his perch atop a barely high but mysteriously thriving willow tree, Slade observed this female on distress, before he leapt from the 6 foot limb. Purposefully angling himself to drop onto a mound of dead grass, he cushioned the blow to his joints, and muffled the sound of his fall. 

He was nearly invisible to the naked eye, his luscious power striking twin comparison with the shadows of BlackFeathers night time, but he strode into the moonlight purposefully, his regal mane-like ruff dancing in the light wind. 

Slade strode to the fae as she neared the edge of the circuit she placed around the pack land. The very border he once walked. He did not over step it, but close enough, he stayed.

"Hello."