Wolf RPG

The afternoon sun hung high in the clear, blue sky, warming what had been a chilly morn, it's golden rays spilling through the canopy of greenery that hung above him of the tall and archaic trees that reached heavenward. It had been some time since he'd paid a visit to the King Elk Forest, unaware that Riptide had paid it a visit of his own a month or so prior. The two personalities within the coywolf's body and mind were far from chummy with one another and their memories were not shared between them. This was for the better, Arturo was determined to believe. Though, granted, there would be times when he found out what his sea witch counterpart was up to the gangster would rather disassociate himself. The sea witch's hold on his mind was weakening though, it was a gradual decline that Arturo could feel. Like the slow removal of a leech — which was exactly what Riptide was to him: a parasite. A coping mechanism to the head trauma he'd suffered, albeit unbeknownst to Arturo as it was.

Arturo was Arturo more and more as of late, though he was not so arrogant as to believe that Riptide was gone for good. Soon, but there was never really any guarantee to it and that scared the gangster more than he cared to admit. Still, though it was a simplistic gesture, the gangster gave his head a soft shake to dispel those thoughts. He had not ventured into the Hinterlands to ponder the sea witch. He had came to do some recon, to assess which packs remained, particularly interested in the welfare of the usurpers who had stolen his Isle out from beneath him. A irritation that had not ceased to fester, because Arturo Fearghal was not a man known for forgiving or forgetting.

Aware of the pack that claimed the Creek on the west of the King Elk Forest, the gangster stuck close to the part of the forest that bordered the Tuktu Weir. Arturo kept the dam in view just through the breaks in the trunks of the trees as he moved leisurely through the Forest, fiery red-orange eyes scanning the forest that stretched out before him, his ears perked atop his skull, alert.

As Arturo continued to trace the border betwixt King Elk Forest and Tuktu Weir he opted to remain partially alert while he continued to plot, to ...plan. The coywolf had learned a long time ago that patience truly was a virtue and that a patient man would reap it's just rewards in the end. The gangster's steps ceased, hackles bristling in warning and anticipation as his fiery red, orange gaze swept the ancient trees around him, vigorously searching until they eventually landed upon the large ebony brute drawing ever near. The tall gangster's posture shifted, his head rising, his tail sweeping against his back haunches as he analyzed whom he believed to be the source of the noise that had called him to attention.

The other male was hard to miss midst the greenery, but even Arturo with his melanistic coloration was not a shoo-in for infallible camouflage. Not when his eyes burned like embers aflame in the black mask that adorned his face, nor the sharp, proud way in which the gangster had always carried himself. Alas, there was no reason to be uncivil with the stranger and thus the gangster let out a low chuff of greeting to alert the other to his presence, on the off and unlikely chance that the stranger had yet to notice him. Arturo waited for a few more moments of silence before he diverted his course and headed elsewhere into the Forest.