Sun Mote Copse stranger things have happened, i know

kjalarr moves towards the coast though his path his far from determined. it zigzags from territory to territory within the hinterlands carelessly. he has no destination and no purpose other than survival. food, water, shelter. the morning is bright and sun mote copse gives evidence of it's name. particles of something — pollen if he had to guess — drifts lazily through the air as he moves through the forest, easily spotted despite that the canopy offers decent shade from the bright morning sun. his steps pause as he crosses the scent trail of another. female. loner. and the unmistakable stench of the fox she is no doubt in search of. he deliberates. he does not often feel sociable these days and he does not necessarily wish to be the cause of a failed hunt for her. kjalarr creates a wide berth, circling around the area, foliage rustling as he moves through it. it offers him no camouflage: the platinum silver of his pelage is made to blend with harsh frosts and merciless glaciers of the north and though he does not intend for it a twig snaps under foot and the warborn grows still with anticipation.