Frostfire Ridge i'll take it all, rise and fall

His limbs strode across the borders, defiant, with the naïveté of a nomad. Even if this pack was active, here, he would have strode across it regardless. The Dotharan were a raiding people; they saw unarmed borders, a weak group of wolves, and they took from them. Forcibly. But Zoratto was no true Dotharan warrior, yet. He had no reason to prove himself by raiding, especially not a place like this. He was merely curious as to what kind of wolves the khalas was up against.

And there he was. Dark, dark brown, darker than any of the Dotharan wolves he had met. His frozen lake eyes of his were accented by silver painted along his eyes. At first, Zoratto was jealous: how did he get his dyes there? But as the man walked closer, he realized it was natural, like his own, blood red mask.

And he walked like a khal. Regal, his head raised despite his neutral posture. He could become a khal of his own right, if he ever tried. But the young man doubted any Dotharan would follow an outsider, unless he truly proved himself. Especially one who spoke another language. Already, a frown alighted his face. This would be a problem. Though the greeting, regardless of language, was universal, the rest of their conversation would prove...troublesome. "Ava'yorn."