Dragoncrest Cliffs some would sing and some would scream

He’s found himself in an easy routine that is often spent on the borders. He sometimes runs across Dio or Eske in passing but most of the time he spends them along these days. He’s up early where his brother sleeps in, which he doesn’t mind—it has always been this way—and he goes about his business to pass the time. He’d eaten something earlier he’d caught just as the sun began to rise and the rest of the day is spent in the wooded area of Drageda, making sure nothing in particular is out of place.
 
When he’s circling the redwood borders of the cliffs, he notes a scent that does not belong and the absence of a call to those nearby. Someone lurking on their borders has never been tolerated and he’s loathing to start accepting it today. A s the wind shifts in his direction to bring the scent, his feet hit the ground in half a run to find who may be lingering.
 
The dark wolf is a blemish against the snowy backdrop and he slows, keeping himself hidden for as long as he can with the benefit of his fur and the way the wind is blowing. His head lifts and squares between his shoulders, his tail arched high above his spine—a posture he only uses when faced with a threat—and he curls up his teeth as he breaks his disguise and emerges into view.