Broken Antler Fen Shapeshifter

It wasn't long before a pack wolf emerged from the treeline. A stately looking male moved between the spring foliage, weaving among bright green saplings and shoots of new growth. He was a silver male in his prime - two or three was Valtyr's best guess - brawny and well muscled beneath his seasonal pelt. Blue eyes met Valtyr's copper gaze only briefly, before the vagabond looked away politely.

The Sveijarn was a tall man; lean compared to the sturdy-looking Sebastian. However, his figure reflected the life of a lone wolf. Savaging carrion was the yearling's primary form of nutrition, and did not often satisfy the young male's voracious appetite. He had done well enough to survive, though.

"Sebastian," Valtyr repeated in an attempt to commit the alpha's name to memory. His posture relaxed a bit, ruddy ears falling to half-mast, "I'm looking to become apart of your pack," he responded formally with clear intonation. "I hail from the North but, ah, some of my ancestors hail from the South. I've been exploring this region and came upon your borders." His gaze briefly looked around the lush purchase, "your home is very nice."

"My name is Valtyr. You can call me Val," he said before letting his voice lull into silence, allowing the sterling alpha to speak.