Emberwood gunslung

He had still not returned home.

If his mother was not there, neither would he be. Yet his absence for Kvarsheim manifested in a million ways. An edge of ferality came about him.

His fur clumped in certain places, his skin hung a little looser off a hardly grown frame. The scent of Kvarsheim was removed from him. He became territorial over the things he could scavenge.

Yet his curiosity had not died out yet.

As evident by the way he watched the great, wounded man. Stalking alongside him like a shadow.