Hushed Willows a swell of smoke arose and filled the air [festival]

word of the festival reached the sotaherra even in the frost-touched lands of the taiga and he spent a few days mulling whether he should attend or not. there was a lot to do for the vartija yet. caches and borders and recruits and regrouping with those sworn to the cause; wintersbane's time is valuable these days, dedicated to the strict agenda set in motion months ago. he sets out for elysium nevertheless, stretching the invitation to those that follow him without being sure what lay in store.

it felt strange to enter claimed lands; wrong. like trying to force two magnets with the same polarity together. it goes against everything he, as soturi believes in. borders are sacred, they protect a claim and the wolves within. the fur at his nape bristles and he readjusts his grasp on the antler he carried as a gift. it was a prize taken from a large, old stag that had been good eating for the adding to the caches. he isn't sure if it's necessary but it seemed like ill manners to come without.

he follows the scent trails, all intermingling and mixing in a way that he wants to rebel against. what was he doing here really? seeing what the festival was about? seeing if it was possible from wolves from all over, from other packs to temporarily co-exist within the dwellings of a pack not their own? curiosity was what drove the sotaherra. it is not hard to find the crowd and when he does his approach slows, errs to the side of caution as his glacial gaze studies those gathered. he recognizes only three besides the two of his own that flanked him: charon, illidan and aure.

his gaze does not linger upon any of them for long, roving to study the others as he moves nearer, setting the gift he brings down at his paws hating the 'lost lamb' feeling he's suddenly and uncharacteristically been struck with ...but he does not like being in the territory of another on principle alone, despite that it was an open invitation.