The man is still on edge, post the war between the Family and the darkness, and he struggles to find peace once again. At every turn does he doubt the course of his Fate, the fate that so tethered him to an outcome he only anticipated at every dusk and every dawn. His demise, or retribution some would say, approached at a galant speed that even the heathen could not match. But for now did he walk on, casting glances behind his back ever so often, but not allowing the haunting presence of his sins to chain him to a life he was still yet to live. Even after all he had done not to deserve it. Tracing the borders on the ninth cycle of his morning, he draws his claws along the dirt, gathering the earth within his paws and breathing out with a huff; none have crossed the Family's walls. But they have left, he realises with a sudden jolt; the one he claimed not days before the Blackfeather attack had slipped from his grasp. He was not suprised. Little was meant to stay within the barbarian's life, not even the whore he constorted with barely fleetingly. Returning to his patrol with a slow heave of his breast, the man is let loose to the wild but contained within his thoughts once more.