Northstar Vale houndmouth

Warbone had never felt partial towards any particular time of day; having found over the years that it all bled together whenever one was so consistently unfettered. But since the closure of one of his eyes, he had come to discover that darkness was not as impersonal to him as he'd once thought. It was a bane now— limiting him more than ever now— except that he wouldn't allow the moonlit hours to conquer him. The wild had carved him, so it would not the same wild that would defeat him.

The scent of blood took his thoughts away from the irrepressible night. He followed the scent slowly, assuming that he would come upon Saena, but he was well within sight before he realized that he had not been tracking his small, pied companion. At first he only saw gold. The sun's abandoned cloak across the back of an unfamiliar she-wolf. Warbone's approach was decidedly neutral, perhaps unwilling to outwardly admit that he had been wrong about who he thought he might find.

This she-wolf, however, was almost twice the size of his partner, and if not for her gender, she might've been as large as himself, if not bigger. (And then because he was naturally inclined to think such things, he thought she would bear some very powerful pups— given the father was anything like him.) He did not face her directly, but rather stood perpendicular to her, his head angled acutely in her direction. He felt no reason to accost her; the damage was already done. But it need only take a glance to ascertain that he felt he belonged here. More so than her.

Without speaking, he waited (read: expected) for her to get up and move on.