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Barely able to contain his increasing excitement, Riandur had remained as patient as possible in helping the group set up their temporary camp. His companions were many, all of them weak, hungry, exhausted by the efforts required to finish a leg of their journey which had taken many moons. To them this world into which they had now entered was known, familiar. There was little exciting about it, just a relief to be amongst surroundings they could recognize. He knew that, despite the warming brightness of the sun and lightness of the day, they would want little more than a quick meal, a brief chat, the warm sanctuary of their woven blankets for a long and peaceful sleep. A prospect that was as unappealing to himself as it was appealing to them.

Rarely did he sleep at the best of times, and certainly not now. Never had his body felt less like sleeping, as through every last inch of its furry bulk a tingling excitement flooded. To him this world was new, exciting. Every sight, every scent, every taste and sound that assaulted his powerful senses was a thing of beauty., a new adventure waiting to be experienced. He had consented to wait, to be patient, whilst those with whom he travelled finished up their own preparations for the day. Now they were ready. The food was consumed, the beds were made, a large and totally unnecessary fire was crackling merrily in the centre of their varied assortment of sleepy bodies. Finally, for the first time in his life, the lonely wolf was free to pursue the violent pulling of his heart.

Without thinking, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. Already his body had assumed the agile, four-legged stance which afforded maximum mobility, but was rarely practical in the cramped and crowded nature of his home. But today was all about change, about experiencing that which had been hidden from him for years, of pushing himself to his absolute limits. Lowering his upper body slightly, he showed no hesitation as he assumed a pose he had long practised when pouncing upon his prey. Today he knew that his foe was a different beast, a new adventure altogether. With a victorious howl - one which echoed seeming endlessly through the flat lands all around, doubtless disturbing those resting just a short distance away in the process - he lunged his body forwards. Today he was not hunting for food, or for sport. Today he was chasing something greater. The mighty and elusive beast known as life.

For how long he ran, he could never say. What did time matter, whilst his every sense was being flooded with the new, the unknown? Against his legs, across his underside, the soft caress of the grass tickled and teased. Upon the vast quantity of hairs which made up his shaggy coat the drops of morning dew desperately clung. To his ears, the twitters and tweeting of the birds was like beautiful music compared to the dull, heavy noises his own home was known to produce. No longer did the putrid stench of death and decay flood his nostrils; the scents instead a sweet, pleasing sensation which caused him to sniff heavily, eagerly, as the desire to drink it in intensified with every stride of his powerful legs.

To his mind, there could be no greater beauty than that of the vast, open, colourful world in which he now found himself. For what felt an immeasurable distance in every direction he could see little but a pleasing openness. Behind him, he had long ago left the sight of the camp, and the immense wall of wildlife which marked the opening to his swampland home. Ahead, there were the faint tracings of trees, but nothing so thick and heavy as those he had come to know. Towards these his straight and careless path was taking him, but he was not yet ready to surrender the warm, soothing calmness with which the suns light filled him.

Instead, he came to a stop shortly before it. Rolling over upon his back, he allowed all four of his powerful legs to kick upwards towards the sun in a comical salute. Every inch of his body was tingling, excited. Against the unfamiliar firmness of the floor, his grey, brush-like tail waggled happily. From between his lips a thick tongue hung limp against his slender muzzle as he panted slightly from the effort of his run. About him, the grass was longer, thicker, so that he felt almost hidden amongst it's bulk, yet not such that he was no longer exposed to the pleasing warmth beating down from above. Had there not been such excitement around him; the wooded area still to explore, new sounds and smells which needed to be investigated, a whole host of open land which was still unknown to him, then he may perhaps have been able to sink into sleep within the gentle embrace of nature.

Yet his body could never allow it. Despite his relaxed, carefree stance, his nose was working furiously at the scents about, his sharp, pointed ears remained pricked and attentive to any slight change in the sounds around him. From the wooded area which now lay but a few strides away, he was aware of a heavy rustle, a movement amongst the rough undergrowth which must line its floor. Of this he was familiar - such sounds a constant in a home where every movement meant the scatted debris of the leafy ceiling above. With some degree of reluctance, he consented to pull himself away from the openness and the warmth for a time. Every potential new thing had to be explored. Nothing could remain undiscovered.

Without raising himself back up from the ground, he crept along, hidden still beneath longer, thicker grass within which he could remain concealed with just a little shifting of his body. In this manner he came to the ending of the flat, open lands, found himself at the beginnings of a more wooded area once more. With slow, deliberate sniffs, he tested the air around him. The sweet, pleasing scents still lingered, potent and heavy, but another had grown stronger, more prominent to his sensitive nose. This he had noted before, but it was duller, bitter, inconsequential amongst the much more exciting ones that masked it. Now that he was, presumably, closer to its source, he realized that he recognized it, had sampled something similar to it before.

With no sign of whatever it was that had created the rustling noise, he slipped fully from his temporary hiding place, shook the stray strands of grass from upon his coat. Settling upon his haunches, he raised a powerful hind-paw to scratch at his muzzle, took a moment to gaze around in interest at the trees and plants that surrounded him. These, too, were nothing like his home. They were not of the dull, grey into which his own body blended so perfectly, nor the sickly green that seemed to be all else which could survive the harsher conditions he knew. In clusters, flowers sprung up from the ground. Many of them, in a variety of differing shades. Calming blues, vivid reds, sharp, eye-catching yellows. Some even in colours which were unknown to his wide and curious eyes.

Entranced, he approached a cluster, his nose sniffing eagerly at the new scents these creations exuded. With such an oddity to distract him, even his experienced mind was stolen for a moment from the strange smell that had lured him to the this places. Nosing at he flowers in turn, he chuckled appreciatively as they gently tickled against him. Lost in thoughts and excitement, he had let his guard slip a little. He was unprepared to act as a sudden burst of colour flashed across him; darting, bravely, between his legs in its desperate bid for escape.

Although his glimpse of it was brief, he felt certain that he recognized the beast. At once the scent made sense, everything falling into place, restoring him to a sense of normality once more. Although he felt no hunger, the thrill of a chase was never one which he could surrender. With a renewed sense of urgency, he gave chase, nose working furiously to keep track of the beasts scent through the trees. It had a head-start, a significant one. Likely a resident of the area, it was clear that the beast was familiar with its surroundings. Through following the scent Riandur found himself being driven through narrow pathways, gaps in bushes and trees that, at first glance even his keen eyes would had passed over.

He had no intention of hurting his prey. To him, the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of stalking a crafty opponent through the wilderness was more than adequate reward for his efforts. To catch the beast would fill him with pride, a sense of accomplishment. When first he caught a true sight of it, running desperately ahead, clearly tiring as its movements became heavier, more laboured, he actually felt a pang of pity for it, a peculiar sensation for a trained hunter such as himself. Its body was so thin that every bone seemed to stick prominently from its frame. There was no waggle in that thick, shaggy tail, no gloss to their heavy coat of crimson fur. All along he had known it to be a fox, but where he came from there had never been a creature more deserving of sympathy.

Panting heavily, they made one last bid for freedom, before seeming the accept that there was no escaping the healthier, stronger animal. With a yelp of fear it sunk down as low as it could amongst the grasses, turned wide, fearful eyes upon the wolf. Cocking his head slightly, Riandur studied it. With tentative movements that he hoped would mark him as curious rather than aggressive, he approached the weary fox. They made no movements to fight, no sign of resistance. Their body trembled weakly, their tail had curled up between their legs, the foul stench of the scent their body was exuding in fear filled the air.

"Poor beast," Riandur spoke softly, in the tongue which, where he came from, most animals could understand to some degree. Whether this one could, he was unsure. Its ears twitched a little, there was little less fear in those darting eyes. For a moment he entertained the idea of sourcing it some food, but a quick look up at the sky above was enough to halt any such plans. The day was drawing on, the group would be awaiting his return so that they could continue their journey. Yet despite the likely futility of the action, he spoke once more to the cowering fox, a few, hastily muttered words which he hoped would at least soothe it a little in absence of any further help. "Go. I'm not going to hurt you."

Turning away, he heard it shuffle nervously back into the undergrowth. Chuckling just a little, there was a renewed spring in his step, the tingling had returned to his frame, a smile lit up a face that had become hardened by experience. In his mind, he had always known the cause of these strange feelings in his body, but the name had never quite come to his lips. Now, as he made to return back to the people who needed him, he knew what it was that he had experienced. All the oddities, the adventures, the colours, scents, sounds, smells. His body had always known, even in the unchanging nature of his home, that the seasons were changing. He could feel it, like a burning through his frame. Upon this season, the humans bestowed the name of 'Summer', the elves 'the time of rest'. To Riandur, however, it would always have a different name. To him, at least, it would be forever known as the time of life.