Frostfire Ridge when my blood heats up

Spartacus was true to his word and diligently patrolled and hunted to fill the caches whenever he could, and when he finished all the necessary work expected of him, the Gladiator always went for a short spar or a solo training. Training alone didn't really help him in the same way sparring with a packmate or fighting a stranger did, but it helped keep him in shape and make sure his dodges were still as sharp as ever. He had grown rusty on his journey to Teekon Wilds, and had grown even worse in Blackfeather Woods as sparring wasn't expected of him there, he regained his skills when he sparred with Burke and decided that he would never be so pathetic at fighting again. Frostfire Ridge expected him to be a Warrior, all the better, it would make sure Spartacus remembered to keep in shape and sharpen his skills, keep him from becoming so rusty.

The Gladiator was restless, it had been sometime since he sparred with Nochtli and there had been no sparring partners ever since, making the Northerner resort to honing his skills by himself. Perhaps I should just run laps, he thought glumly to himself as his jaws closed around the scruff of a rabbit he had just caught and lifted it, ebony paws skimming lightly over the ground before pausing as he deposited his catch into a nearby cache. Where were all the wolves of the Ridge? He hadn't seen anyone other than Nochtli and Tezcacoatl, and was yearning for the company of fellow wolves once more, even if they were man haters.

I'll just do another patrol, maybe a trespasser or two will make my day more interesting, the Gladiator shook his ebony crown as his paws brought himself forward. Then he paused in his steps, velvety ears twitching, leathery nostrils flaring as he caught the noise of pawsteps and the familiar scent of his King. Spartacus did not hesitate to approach his leader, giving a soft woof to announce his presence, tail flicking amiable behind him as he walked.