Tormented Tarns and he was the man for the job; a one-man bombsquad

wintersbane slips from blackfeather woods' territory, seeking only to stretch his legs for a few hours. that's not to say that he can't stretch them within the dark woods itself ...but the tundrian needs a constant reminder that he is not caged, nor trapped. he is free to venture so long as he returns. and of course he will return. because he has a duty, because mephala commands it, because wintersbane finds no reason not to return to the dark priestess and her shadowy daughter that he's befriended. he does not venture too far, exploring around the tormented tarns for the lack of being able to say he's done it already.

the tarns themselves are many. there is not much land with which to walk upon but and wintersbane does not bother trying to seek it out. he doubts they are even dry and would rather risk the murky waters than the sickly sucking of mud. besides, the tundrian does not think that anything overly dangerous lurks beneath the surface of the waters. there is a shape present in the writhing frosty mist that settles over the tarns. distinctly canine, wintersbane deduces as his glacial gaze studies it. he lets out a low chuff to announce his presence before he makes any moves to draw nearer in investigation.