Whitefish River Summer dress

Bagheera DeMonte, unfettered.

Seasons had passed and his mind had long since been set, but he was no less deeply wounded by being forced to yield his life-long home, duties and in some part, family. His father's legacy would never be his. Had he been younger, he would have taken to the horizon bordered only by temperamental seas and vast oceans. As it was, however, he had no intention of heeding the persuasion of wanderlust that so many of DeMonte lineage had found temptation in before him. He was getting undeniably on in age and had long since passed that phase. Now he had fewer options, and his chosen path was a search for replenishment.

A drab veil of clouds swallowed the lofty sun whole while the day was still young and the presently lone wolf worked to survey the foreign wilderness in which he freely roamed. The craggy peaks in the distance were, for him, welcome familiarities of how he'd spent his winter, and not physical opponents to be conquered. In fact, they were his primary objective since leaving Splintered Spine, and his current path had him weaving through a particularly dense thicket of leafless deciduous trees. With Whitefish River so near, the desire to quell his thirst prompted him to emerge from the tangled brushwood and proceed towards the river.

The striking female could not have been more than fifty metres away when the behemoth stepped into full view. Bagheera angled his predatory gaze to watch her for a few moments as he crossed the short distance to the bank's edge with even strides, evaluating her with the impeccable scrutiny of a hawk. After dipping his noble head to drink, he turned again and this time approached her in a direct line along the river without so much as a hint of hesitation, but did not close the gap entirely.

Quite cozy? he rumbled as he came to stand before her. Her scent was vaguely irritating; he found he couldn't determine based on that alone whether she was solitary or belonged to a pack.