[j] conquistador

Tried to be vague, made a few assumptions. Feel free to shoot me a pm if they're wrong and I'll gladly change it! c:

A light rain had fallen all day. Despite that it had not been heavy and that the dampness had not immediately taken to saturating every tendril of ash and pallid fur the Hunter was, effectively, soaked. Evidence enough that the weather had no bearing on his purpose. A weaker canine than him would have likely taken shelter against the gray clouds that hung, imposing over the lands, or perhaps one that did not harbor his views when it came to sense. Kingumut had been traveling since the first light of dawn had broken over the horizon, having stirred from his slumber when the first song bird had let out it's bittersweet sonnet into the tepid air that had hung thickly, like a cloak over the lands. The smell of rain had been evident even at the night's beginning though it was not the eldest that had the affinity for nature. This was not entirely true. He had an affinity for the death of nature's gifts: food and when it came down to it: other predators. Kingumut was not a seasoned warrior as his uncle, but he was a killer all the same. He hunted. He hunted food, and when he was pointed in the direction by his Alpha: he hunted wolves, too. Enemies of Tartok. Unfortunately, that was everyone else. The outsiders. It did not matter. He was given a target and he hunted, no strings attached. No pesky morals to hinder him, to get in his way of carrying out his assignment.

Driven by instinct was how Kingumut had been raised, and it was how he lived his life. Instinct drove him to travel through the less than desirable weather, towards what his Uncle sought. Towards his youngest brother's faded path. Aariak had came this way but if he had found what they'd been seeking, Kingumut did not know. Steps swift despite his broad, tall frame carried him towards the strong scent markers that he'd been closing in on for a few miles now. Nearer he drew until he was close enough to decipher the individual scents lain upon it, black, leathery nose poised earth bound as he sniffed curiously at it, though he was sure to leave more than an adequate distance between the scent markers and himself.

The Hunter was good with scents, good at remembering, and better at tracking with them. One struck him as familiar, giving the pallid and ash male a sense of deja vu though he could not adequately place it. He desired to move closer, as if somehow, minimizing the distance might trigger what was over whelming his senses: the tug of familiarity that refused to be placed. No closer he drew, however, knowing well enough that it would mean a battle and though he was always ready to fight Kingumut did not desire to waste his energy, if his intuition and suspicions were wrong. Nostrils flared as his head rose once more, mahogany red eyes raking the lands behind the invisible boundary line for a moment as he made his decision.

He howled for them and waited as the tenor of his call echoed in the distance.