Horizon Ridge shadow runner

He grew closer to the forest – his eyes drifting over the invisible lines in which he would lay claim to. There was no question of if he would, only when. Determination had been far surpassed now – Constantine was placing all or nothing toward this, and as he neared and the voices of the ravens advised one another of his approach, he was far more intrigued by the youth that came from the opposite direction.
 
The boy was young – not yet a year old, if even one to be in the adult ranks. But he was nothing to scoff at – burly at such a youthful age, Constantine’s trained eye addressed the boy with calculated curiosity, though the gleam of his stoical expression gave way to nothing. His own form stiffened at the chuff of the other – the shadowrunner was not a large behemoth by any means, but the stockiness of his weight and the experience he held was nothing to be scoffed at in this moment. Still, the boy is confident for his age – something the regal could appreciate, for he had not been so in his younger years.
 
His own ears square forward, studying the stranger. Intricate colors are lost upon the swarthy wolf, for it is attitude alone he seeks. While his own pace pauses, his steps become more deliberate – cat-like in grace and predatory as he nears the forest and the unknown youth. Testing him, perhaps – or, as his own muzzle lifts, he announces with silent posture his intentions for this land that the marked wolf has strode from – his own fiery eyes flaring towards those of glacial blue.