Stavanger Bay Taking it’s Toll

His tail lifted as he espied a wolf lingering upon the border, it stuck out stiffly behind him as he strode toward the stranger—a visual indication of confidence. She—a wolf cloaked in hues of brown, grey and black—had already noticed him, plainly acknowledging him with a snort. A second wolf tailed the first, finally joining her at the hip. This fellow was paler in comparison—grey-cream grizzled with coffee tones and copious scars, scarring similar to himself. Unlike his counterpart, his greeting was an odd, but cheery,

"Greetings, mateys!"

Mateys? Implying Tahoe was not alone. In curiosity, he shot a quick glance behind him, finding a familiar dark shadow following his path. Umbra's presence came as a relief, their odds were much better as a pair, compared to him potentially getting jumped the two strangers—who were far too close for his liking. If not seeking to be recruited, they would have no choice but to leave. Ironclan would not serve as a doormat, he would not allow it. His eyes returned on the reddish-brown female who had acknowledged him initially, largely ignoring her partner.

What brings ya to the borders of Ironclan? He inquired in a rumble, guarded.