Lion Head Mesa No remorse for the helpless one

He is near the borders, just outside the pack.

The mesa was impressive upon closer inspection.

The yearling’s stormy figure prowled the exterior of the pack, gold tint eyes tracing the mighty rocks that shaped the pack. Had he remained in Riverclan and listened to the word of his father, Stormchaser might have approached more tentatively. There were scents that wafted from within the marked borders that were both alluring and foreign enough to give pause.

Instead of calling, the young wolf continued his nosing along the edges of their claim. They had a number of wolves and their borders smelled of frequent patrols. How long would he wait before one of their parties found him prowling?

while he often spent most of his time at Rashepses side, there was the occasion he would take to his role as mazoi of the mesa, rather kingsguard of the semer-wati. 

toward the outer rim of the territory, close to the border, an unfamiliar scent graced his nostrils. 

calm, while still on alert, he approached, letting loose a deep chuff to announce himself to the stranger. you are close to the borders of Akashingo, stranger. a warning of caution, while his firm gaze also posed the question, "is there a reason why?"

It took little time for a striking blonde Mazoi to find Stormchaser at the borders of the mesa. He was confident in his approach, chuffing in a deep voice to announce himself. As though that was necessary. The yearling would have seen this man anyway. He had not happened upon many who carried such a pale, sunlit coat. It would have looked nice on the floor of his den.

When the brute spoke, it was to deliver a blandly obvious statement.

Stormchaser feigned surprise, looking around swiftly before he snickered and shrugged his lean shoulders.

I might’ve walked right in… he spoke caustically.