Barrow Fields Barracuda

In the area b/w SW & SS

Warbone was heavily stained in red and blanketed by the overwhelming scent of wolf's blood. His own wounds glistened in the clouded daylight, but they were not prominent enough to have caused such a massive spill against his forehalf. Some miles back a wolf lay dead— another male who had thought forcing his way into scavenging off of Warbone was a better option than asking— and he received no mercy from the bronze gladiator.

Thoroughly irritated, the wolf didn't bother to clean himself off as he attempted to drain himself of the volatile adrenaline still coursing through him. He was jogging, tail arced at the base and tongue lolling, expelling the excess energy as he went; emitting such great waves of the naturally powerful musk relating to a dominant, victorious male, that it nearly overpowered the tang of blood on the air.