Ishtar had not strayed far from the glacier, drawn to the massive tower of sea ice and it's forest. It was free territory and though there were packs close by, close enough that Ishtar could scent them upon the winds the beast was bothering none and would continue to utilize his freedoms. Thus far, he'd seen no reason to veer off in search of any of the other free territories. There was fresh water sources for him within the Glacier's woodland confines and plenty of small game to keep him, at the very least, sated. He was a big brute and it took many small woodland creatures to fill him but for as large and powerful as he was: he was lumbering and stood no chance of catching any “big” prey upon his lonesome. Two would struggle with the task, Ishtar considered. Lest luck was a kind mistress to him and he happened to stumble across a fawn Ishtar settled, only because he had little choice. He could try to take down the sickly or young of a herd but if he was not successful it would be a waste of his energy — something that the beast knew he needed. The life of a wanderer was full of perils and he coveted his strength as much as he could in accordance.

A strange scent carried his way upon the wind and Ishtar's muzzle lifted and drew in the scent, assessing it with a flare of coriaceous nostrils. A pack wolf was within the Glacier's invisible territorial bounds. The pack he scented to the west of the Glacier, not the east he deduced. He gave their borders plenty distance habitually. Though it would have been easy for Ishtar to go his own way he felt the pull of curiosity and found himself prowling in the direction of the stranger's scent. Ethereal mint colored irises found him easily enough: an ugly thing the vain beast deduced, walked with a limp, covered in scars and his fur fly-away as if he hadn't kept after it, Ishtar observed. 

“You look like you've seen better days.” Ishtar spoke his observation out loud to the scraggly man, ears splaying to either side of his skull. Ishtar sniffed the air for a moment, gleaming what he could about the male from scent alone, though the beast left a wide berth between the two of them, a stickler for personal space as he was. 

It did not occur to Ishtar that his observation might have come across as blunt or any variation of unwelcome. Yet, the beast had not meant his words as insult. Vain as he was, the wear and tear that the stranger before him wore proved of survived struggle and strife, and Ishtar appreciated those that could survive. He was not without his own scars. The third degree burn scars upon his left hind leg would not so quickly be forgotten. No longer could Ishtar claim that he dwell upon them as he once had but their reminder was a constant one: the brand of the cinders and flame would never fade he'd learned during his time growing from boy to man. Whether the stranger took offense to Ishtar's observation in truth or not the beast was not to know for the stranger spoke in perceived agreement and offered a roll of his shoulders.

For a moment, Ishtar pondered in the silence between them. He considered asking if there was trouble he should be aware of but that would have created the invitation to be personal and Ishtar wasn't very good with personal, at least not to wolves he did not know. It had been easier as Alpha of Spectre Ravine...but he no longer shouldered those duties and thus was not inclined to share, nor did he particularly wish to hear revealing stories that did not pertain or effect him. That moment passed quickly, and Ishtar spoke his next observation, “You carry the scent of the pack west of this Glacier.” A subtle question lay beneath his words: why have you taken to the glacier? While it was true that Duskfire Glacier was a free territory and thus everyone and anyone had a right to haunt it (such as Ishtar himself enjoyed); it was Ishtar's sanctuary of choice for the moment and until he moved on to a different free territory Duskfire Glacier was seen, in his mind, as his for the time being, despite the fault in such thoughts.