Wheeling Gull Isle corn liquor tastes sweeter in this town

His trek continued onward, though not for very long. It was hard to miss the summons of a creature far greater than he and the same sense of dread that had come to him when Rhælla had found him returned full force. He would have loved to turn away, to bolt into the underbrush like the coyote he very much resembled, but this time he held his ground. It was difficult to betray the instinct—the wolf was massive, perhaps the largest that he had ever seen in all his life. Wolves in general were not something he was overly confident in keeping company in, not when his life had been so very much pockmarked with rampant hybridization.

How easily such jaws could sunder flesh from bone, how they could tear life out.

And it would seem that the wolf did not anticipate him being apart of them, either.

An amusing thing to note, though he did so bitterly. To think he had found a place to belong only to have it questioned by the ignorant—and how hastily he arrived at that conclusion, how the bitterness and morose still lingered deeply within. A demure smile plastered itself across his face for pleasantries only, but inside he seethed that the timing had not been better. Or perhaps worse—what if this goliath had thought him desecrating their sanctity if he had seen him marking their borders?

"I am Tarot, Lady Rhælla has allowed me to stay," he answered, wondering what this Connor would make of him now.