Things were different. He could feel that, feel it the way that his paws felt the earth and could tell it had shifted some. Time had marched on without him, and his trials had been different - he'd been taken into the wilds by something entirely unknown to him and there had been no way for him to resist it. There was no coming back, honestly, from the strange magic that held the lands enraptured continuously. He didn't know if he felt any different, maybe more stubborn, more determined - but his eyes sought the Glade the same way his heart did. It had become his home. His base. His people were there.

Something stopped him at the edge of the lands, skirting it only a bit before he'd taken to pacing, not unlike a cat might. He'd imagined what it might have been like lost to the flames. Orange and yellows, reds hot as the sun themselves, just eating up all the trees and every scrap of plantlife that they'd worked so hard to cultivate into something beautiful and strong. It felt like they had only just begun before he was transported elsewhere and sent on his journey, and he'd hated every moment of it.

Foxglove normally might had relished a challenge but when he'd been transported to another place entirely with no direction to moor him he'd been untethered. The yoke of packlife had been snapped from him and instead of embracing the freedom he'd only seen it as a strange loss of identity and community. He hadn't realized that he'd been so enmeshed but it wouldn't have surprised him if he'd thought much more about it - he'd been just as lost without his siblings and mothers, after all.

Without considering it anymore he'd called out - his voice strong and without any fear, but he'd summoned her all the same. Surely Fable would have her own thoughts on what happened to him and if he'd even be one of hers anymore.