The Sentinels suuri soturi

The broad creature swayed as his limbs carried him toward the strong scent that marked the borders of the woodland. It was thick with ancient trees that were stocked closely together, creating an otherworldly nature about the forest realm. Ghostly eyes traveled the length of the border as the soturi breathed in the scent of other wolves.
 
Lærke was a man of the northern wind and the moonlit wolves of the tundra enok. He had known only the brutal cold of the winter realm, but had heard tales in his travels of wooded lands and stretching expanses of sand that would lead to tumbling frigid waters. The warrior had not come across such things until he had arrived on those lands, but it was a marvel for his eyes and he felt the stirring of spirits inside of his chest – they urged him to go forward. His stocky frame stood rigid on the outside of the pack, but the soturi did have a great many doubts. The cocoa-coated man had never before left the far north of his home. He had fought and won many battles for his people there, but his skills were best shared with the world… at least, that was what the shamans had told him.
 
Knowing that there was no true honor in ambiguity, Lærke drew his head back and called in an echoing bass for anyone to meet him on the edge of the wood. His silver gaze peered into the depths of the trees with a bright twinkle and his hefty frame stood in a neutral position as he waited.