Whitefish River I like the honey, not the honeybee

SETTING:
Weather: Overcast with light fog and showers.
Cool with slight humidity.
Sunrise

 

As the sun touched the over the horizon to spread it light on the land, the lone male pulled himself atop the ridge to look over the silent world. Fog swirled around him, blocking the rays of sun that attempted to break against his back and give him warmth against the biting air.

Down below laid a river, it's winding beach barely seeable through the dense fog and rain. If it werent for it's wide channels perhaps the man wouldn't have noticed—But that's besides the point. Greyback knew the river marked the territory, and even without his sight the presence of that thick, familiar scent was all he needed.

With a steady pace the lumbering giant made his way over to the sandy beach with his head bowed low and nose flaring. It was only when he reached the edge, feeling his monsterous paws dip atop the sand with enough pressure to allow the water to kiss his nails that he stopped and gazed once more, squinting through the fog to see any sign of others.

Unfortunately, no one was there.

Tipping his head back, the Easthollian sucked in a breath before bellowing it out in deep, quaking howl that vibrated within his chest and through the air. He continued it for long, making sure others were aware he was serious before tapering it off and stilling.  If it were to take long for someone to show he would only sound forth a thundering alarm.