Frogspawn Swamp devil his due

He does not know what he will find outside the Family; he is not sure he cares to know. The battle of Blackfeather Woods has left him scarred and he grunts as his weight shifts with each step, reopening sores that will likely never heal properly. He welcomes the pain like an old friend. It is something he does not have, and something he does not miss. Besides mere aquaintences, he does not trust himself to go beyond. However, that is exactly what he does. He ventures beyond the Strath, thunderous footsteps mimicking that of murderous one's though his temper is kept in check at that moment in time. He cannot help the anger that swells in each step, pumping throughout his body like a tidal wave of molten regret. It is an indefinate curse, and one he has grown to not shy away from. His mere forboding presence is one that strikes into the hearts of many that he meets, and he has come to use it to his advantage. Occasionally.

As he comes upon the other, gliding ever so soundlessly through the underbrush of the forest that bordered on the swamp, below the canopy of ever-entangled branches above. He could hear the buzz of the marsh, but he could scarcely hear her. Did she hear him? The man opts out of confrontation and simply follows, trekking with implied light toes as his eyes trained on the figure and her journey.