Duskfire Glacier [j] The king is dead but the queen is alive

But the borders were the last thing on Malachi's mind that frigid winter day. Instead he devoted himself to the hunt, spurred on by the scattered flakes that had fallen from the sky just moments after waking that morning. The cold season was in full swing, and though there was no telling whether or not the season would be a time of hardship for the Glacier wolves, Malachi was intent to fill the caches fuller in preparation for whatever nature swung their way.

He pursued his prey now with stark intensity, his paws churning the ground in a hungry rhythm. The hare swerved in a jagged pattern, but Malachi traced its spiral path and kept his mind fixed one step ahead of the creature's every move. It darted a sharp left and Malachi turned, bursting through the undergrowth to the flatter ground. Without the shrubs dotting his way he put on a fresh burst of speed - only to come to a tearing halt when a blur of earthen fur finally registered as an abnormality on the border. Bits of frosted ground dug their way into his claws and he felt a sharp burn in his cheeks when he turned his eye upon her, now standing meters behind him.

Resisting the urge to let his ears slack, Malachi turned and made a beeline back toward Duskfire's claimed land. Had he missed the woman's call? That he'd managed to dart right past her brought a sheepishness to his heart, but he raised his head in defiance of the embarrassment he felt. As he neared her the young leader drew in her scent, subconsciously searching for the briny tang of sea. But her fur held none of the ocean, and Malachi let his shoulders relax. "Why do you wait at Duskfire's borders?"