Moonspear do not be afraid to destroy

There is an occasional pinprickle upon his maned neck, the soft bristle of nape hairs as if he can feel the eyes of The Cerberus he seeks upon him; but there are many things that dwell in the woods at the bottom of the titan spear that stands sentinel above them. Wolves and other assortments of creatures alike. He gives pause a few times, quieting his breath and thoughts as his ears pivot atop his skull, straining to hear anything out of the ordinary, thinking that perhaps someone or something watches him from outside the territory; yet his nose lifts and he draws in the scents that mingle in the air and there is nothing but the pack scent of Moonspear and individual scents that he cannot yet put name to. In time, he will learn them all, he’s determined. For good measure, the tundrian glimpses behind him and yet when he sees nothing he lets out a low huff ( patience has never ben his strong suit ) and pushes onwards, not entirely shrugging off the continued sensation but trying to focus upon his patrol and following Hydra’s trail in the hopes it might yield result — as he is completely aware that she is the shadow given flesh that stalks him, the source of that persistent feeling of being watched.