Blacktail Deer Plateau Will of the dragon

Frostrar's journey took him north, albeit not without some diversion. It had been a straight shoot from the Neverwinter Forest towards the plateau and yet he had not immediately sought it out, though he had swung by a few days previous to assess the stale border markings that had begun to fade with the time that passed as they remained unattended. There was no doubt that a pack had once lain claim to the territory but for whatever reason they had departed it — whether they had disbanded or moved elsewhere it was unclear to the Loðbrok. Neither, truly, did it concern him either way. The fact was what once inhabited these lands was gone ...and the idea that perhaps they had left their caches with even some morsels was ...tempting. 

It felt like some sort of disgrace: to be a scavenger, yet he tried not to look at it as such. It was raiding. Simply without the thrill of being caught, or if he was caught no claim to back up any sort of defensive feelings. Besides his insufferable pride it was also survival. Stolen food was better than no food despite what superbia whispered disapprovingly into the dark tresses of his mind. His pride — a driving force to him — was a hard and bitter pill to swallow. In the end, he his detour had seen him to the Sea Lion Shores where he had broken down and feasted upon the cold, tough flesh and sinew of a half eaten sea lion carcass. What had killed it and left it behind was unknown to Frostrar and the Scandinavian had not stuck around to find out. He had eaten his fill though now, a few hours later, there remained a salty and fishy after taste that he could honestly claim he was not all that fond of. He prefer ed Elk or venison but he didn't have the choice of being overly picky about what he ate. He had no pack mates to help him take anything that big down and his chances of successfully managing it on his own were unrealistic. So he became a hrææta, for the time being.

Curiosity, however, could not be stifled even as a light snow had begun to fall, adding a crispness to the frigid air as the scarred Northman pushed past the stale scents of the once pack and loped into the now free territory, loathing that he found himself wondering if they left anything behind.