Permafrost Hollows my bones do not taste of crown and silver

*shakes fist* YOU WHIPPERSNAPPER *edits*

Warbone spent more time in the hollows beneath the volcano than he did on Sleeping Dragon itself. He slept here when he wasn't traveling or patrolling, and there were several reasons for this choice, not the least of which was his preference for the lowlands. Altitude quite simply made him irritable, and the less attitude he had, the less trouble he was likely to cause. Knowing this about himself, he sought decent rest in the boughs of Sleeping Dragon's base— the warmest of his selections being the wooded cleft that was Permafrost Hollows.

He was here now, keeping to his own company as was his want, but as the breeze lifted and swirled around him, he was able to pick up on the fairly recent scent of Thuringwethil. He followed it, curious, but aware that she was not explicitly looking for him. Otherwise she would have called.

The wolf made a noise to catch her attention when she came into view, but he found that she was not alone. Beside her is a wolf he's encountered before (or something), and he trotted up to them without reserve. His tail wagged slowly, cautious of the potential mood there, but nothing seems to have transpired so far. He stopped with several feet to spare between himself and them, his gaze shifting. If they had been alone, he would have greeted Sleeping Dragon's alpha in a more physical way, but as it were, he remained obstinately stoic in added company. "Commander." Warbone looked at her, pale eyes expectant.