Deepwood Weald Construct my summer home.

There was some small semblance of peace to be found there in the dimming light of the weald, enough that Dacio could begin to quieten his thoughts. He was content to find solitude beneath those trees, away from the stresses of his mountain life and the never-ending headache that seemed to plague him there.

It was perhaps the hint of brine on the breeze that soothed his wearied soul, calmed his frayed nerves. He was reminded both fondly and solemnly of his birthplace on Drageda's proud cliffs, the same place his heart would always long for. One day, he continued to promise, yet it never seemed to come.

A dark ear swivelled backward toward the sound of footfalls, and his speckled snout was soon to follow. Pale eyes were swift to source the dark features of a she-wolf who approached from his rear, sweep her lithe frame to find that the charcoal if her crown faded to a much lighter frame.

Blackhead, he was quick to assume with some distance still between them.

A swell of anger, of anxiety in his chest. Dacio was quick to flag his tail and veer to the side so he might better look upon her, unwilling to reveal his back to an enemy who he knew would grasp any opportunity to seek purchase on him with her fangs. He would maintain his cool silence and let her draw near, let her be lured closer by a false sense of security, and strike when she might least suspect it.

There were many wolves desperate to snuff life from Caiaphas, he knew.

Let me be the one to succeed.