Rise

The time had come.

This was what he had been sent here for. Atuun, fierce, bold, and forward-thinking mother of his, had seen fit to send him and several of her best warriors southward to aid in the establishment of his distant cousin's pack, and as he heard Tonravik's wild and savage war-cry rend the air and tear its way across the landscape, he was filled with a great sense of accomplishment and purpose. Somehow, with that realization, this place felt more like home. Granted, he was Tartok, so his home was wherever his four feet were firmly planted. But this was different.

So when that war-song ascended with triumphant grandeur over the imperious spires of Neverwinter Forest and climbed with resonant beauty up the sinister slopes of Silvertip Mountain, he was ready. Thick quills bristled involuntarily all along his silver-kissed mane and shoulders, stark black tail rising proudly up over his back. He planted his feet upon the sharp, rocky outcropping upon which he stood, turned his onyx muzzle to the sky, and sent his own deep, bellowing voice up into the sky to join that of his cousin and alpha. His dark, undulating baritone wove itself beautifully around his mistress's song, trumpeting out across the distance to declare this land his and to challenge all who dared oppose them to try their luck.