Dragoncrest Cliffs hell, heal

By the crunch of snow and dead grass, Arlo hears the approach. His ears swivel forward and he turns to see the mismatched brother coming his way. The white boy freezes in his spot, feeling the wind tussle his fur and a chill cling to him. The north is far colder but the protection of the forest in Trigeda versus the harsh wind in his birth place had been nice. Arlo does not complain and when Melchior is close enough, he nods his head to answer the question.

"For the most part," he confesses. Where they can and can't go is still there and his time is spent in the redwood forest finding places to keep out of the cold until he has earned his keep. Soon, he hopes, for the chill is often getting to him.

When his brother speaks his worry, Arlo frowns. He'd found a mentor in Tanja before the brute left for Drageda and yet he'd come across him. Soon, he hopes, and his own training can begin again but for the most part he feels confident in what he's learned so far. Even in his mentor's absence, he hadn't fallen slack. "We can see what you've got?" he suggests. He knows he isn't in his prime but that was days off and it didn't mean he could become lazy in the meantime.