Fishblight Mire feels like day two of an endless war

taarlok resists the urge to groom himself. it will do no good aside from smearing the wet mud all over and getting it in his mouth. it itches as it dries and under his breath the wolfdog curses his bought of undesirable luck and own unwillingness to backtrack. it's not as if he doesn't have the time — he did and still does — but it's so much extra effort and he's already suffered his mud bath for majority of the territory. he's on the final stretch now, he thinks. he is no navigator though and these lands are yet still foreign to him; as disgruntled as he may be about being filthy it's what kept him rooted to his chosen path initially. he nibbles at a paw pad abruptly unable to resist the urge to soothe a sudden and intense itch, spitting out bits of drying mud between nibbles. taarlok's ears swivel forward to attention atop his skull at the sound of footfalls, swift and thus quieter than taarlok's own. his head lifts as his paw presses back against the sun-touched rock and his weight shifts it ever-so-slightly, positioning himself so that he could stand fluidly and fight or flight if need be. there was no telling how the wolves of these wilds would take to wolfdogs. the imperium had thought him impure and only tolerated him breathing because of who his father was. outside of the imperium it occurs to taarlok that he is outside his father's realm of protection and thus wholly on his own. that's fine, he assures himself. he's been dealing with discrimination his entire life.

the owner of the swift steps comes in taarlok's view, and his pupils narrow in their pools of light silver as he takes in the limber, svelte and dark pelted man from afar with a critiquing eye that subtly appreciates even as his assess. taarlok's always been appreciative of the body and how he believes them to be works of art. yet, he is shallow and he studies those that are particularly intriguing or strikingly attractive as if he is a master painter admiring the work of his colleges. there is too much distance between them to yet determine if the stranger's attractive but he's lissome and it's catching to the imperial's eye. taarlok contemplates for a few seconds, assuming that he goes unnoticed from his perch, whether to call out to the stranger or not but in the end let's out a chuff to announce his presence to the other man. it's courteous if nothing else and while taarlok's never fancied playing by rules he does value his life enough to not want to be attacked because he took someone off guard.