Heron Lake Plateau a treason bestowed to the crowd

He watched the wolf with interest, his own head leveling off to hold that firelight gaze still.

Yes, how about he prove it—this was the talk that he lived for, actions instead of words. He could combat Stjornuati all he wanted but the two knew each other innately and while fun, there was true test of mettle in a potential clash with another. Truly for Solpallur, this was the language of seduction. The smile that scrawled its way across his face now was no less gruesome, but it was genuine.

A bardagi then.

His teeth clacked together excitably, hackles rising along the thick scruff of his neck and shoulders before it ran the length of his back like a fissure. Only then did he lower his own crown to mask his throat with that toothy smile. The interest never waned; perhaps this wolf was another bróðir loosed to the wilderness.

“Sœkja!” he called to the wolf.