Lion Head Mesa Pólemos

Once free from the dark woodland, the wolf made his way into the open meadows and tasted the autumn on the air. In the distance, Arsenio could see the shape of a small group of elk. They appeared to be shuffling slowly across the flatland toward the safety of the forest on the other side. There were maybe four of them, dark shapes that inched until they could not be seen.

Arsenio scented wolves on the edges of the mesa. It was marked well enough for the misthofóros to understand he had no business crossing into their terrain. The auburn fighter did not stop from circling the edges like a hungry dog. His icy gaze flickered to the innards of the territory before he barked, testing the air with the power of his voice.

If there were any who patrolled the length of the territory, they would find him on its edge.