Lost Creek Hollow soul cleave

with only a small amount of personal reservation, stigmata took up the tedious task of scouting. he felt it would be the most practical distraction from bearclaw -- feeling that it was better for him to work on getting to know the wilds surrounding the valley in which he had taken roost in, rather than to waiting around to fall victim to his own ambition. it would be a needless venture now; to sow discord out of mating season, just so that he might nurse a fractured pride and rectify what he perceived to be a "misplacement" in their ranks, seemed foolhardy at best. so he traveled -- leaving little opportunity for him to idle into chaos.

skirting the uninteresting markings of a pack not his own, the sandraudiga male slipped into the shaded robe of a tall forest. he perused about with mild intrigue, suppressing his imperial inner monologue until it was nothing but a tinnitus-like ringing in his ears. he was almost glad for the hooded figure ahead of him beneath the emerald canopy, and pining for further distraction he made a low, non-threatening noise to attract the wraith's attention.