Despite knowing what lay in his heart and where it belonged, Nippaitok remained a wolf of a fierce and far-ranging independence. It was a temperament that, in part, had driven him from his original home, but since the wolves of Tartok that had taken in that wayward yearling all that time ago and given him a legacy to uphold, the pale Adonis had felt no kinship to wandering. It was in his nature to journey still. Despite his renowned loyalty, it wasn't out of character for him to disappear for days on end— no matter how far apart these trips seemed to be.
None would worry after him; they knew he would return, and that he was content as always to be on his own. They knew he went with purpose: for though these trips were rare, rarer still would be a time he'd leave his wolves without necessity.
He had not been tasked with mapping these lands, but the mute took it upon himself anyway as a means to whittle down his tireless energy. It was late in the morning when he reached a plateau in the heights of Boartusk upon which he could rest. He had meant to make his route as long as possible, intent on feeling satisfied from this lone bout in the wilds for quite some time, but if he had had a bird's eye view of the distance he went, even this brute might've thought himself insane. But as he could not possibly reflect on that thought, he became distracted instead by the sight of the morning-lit Hinterlands beneath him.
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