Blacktail Deer Plateau Shadowland

After his fight with Charon, Dante's ear was the worst of his pains.  His face stung as well, the tears pulling anytime he moved his mouth or eyes.  Currently he was doing the one thing that brought the best relief.  With his rear legs resting on the riverbank, he lowered his front half into the shallows of the creek, cheek and sundered ear lowered beneath the cooling current.  A low sigh left him as welcome numbness began filtering through.  This was much preferred to herbs.

Still he felt no guilt for the anger that had led him to attack the younger wolf.  It had been a brutal fight but he felt it justified - Charon should have either kept his mouth shut or had the skill necessary to know when to back down.  His judgement was unforgiving and he thought on it coldly, wondering but not really caring if the Stavanger wolf's injuries had prevented him from making it home.

Tarin would have disapproved greatly.  She would have called it brutish, and it was for her sake he had so refrained from conflict when first he came here.  But Tarin was dead, she and her children.  Too weak to defend themselves.  The past few weeks he has shied away from that thought, labeling his sister weak feeling treasonous to her memory.  But now he let the truth of it settle upon him.  If she had been willing and able to fight, she would not be dead.

A frown creased his brow as he laid his head down on his forepaws, tilted slightly to still allow the side access to the water.  Heavy thoughts for such a beautiful day.