Whitefish River i have what you're looking for

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please forgive my rocky start ;)

He rises as the morn breaks day, traveling south toward a land unknown to him and does not stop. He halts only sporadically, to drink and to feed, but for nothing else does he waver his course. A man with a soul filled with relentless uncertainty does not call for a steady trail and he goes on but not with ease, perceptive of everything around him with so, in the new world he roams in, each sound is a warning, and each scent a reason to return a slave to the shadows.

But he is not a coward, and he stands unwavering just beyond the banks of a river, dull optics settling upon a man he does not know. Trust is a fluid thing within his multiverse; trust of himself, trust of others, trust of the world around him. Nothing is certain for him anymore, and nothing has given him a reason to believe that it should be so. He is a haunted man, body and soul; the cost of living freely has irreversibly marred his face and from that lesson he has learned the price of peace of mind is one that is sure to put a soul in debt, something he refuses to accept again. But for now he hovers silently between confrontation and fleeing, unsure of what the other’s purpose in such a proximity to him and his own. His head dips, perhaps warningly, perhaps questioningly, but he does not submit.

Despite the paranoid mind frame he holds, he is not a man of submission to the most imposing force out of obedience. There is only one force he will bow to, and in body it is not likely he will ever have the chance. Instead, stormy eyes settle intensely upon the other, no movement save for the rapid twitch of his eyes as they observe vividly, taking in the other of his intent and his purpose. At this point, Rollo is unable to assess clearly the intent of the other, a fact that both shocks as well as disturbs him, but he does carefully hide his confusion with a gaze of pure steel and a low chuff escapes him.

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