Grouse Thicket out of the mist

His memories of this region were not the best. Not being so far back west, close to the site of where his former pack had up and moved on. Winter offered little in the way of the feathered prey he was keeping an eye out for. They simply may not be frequenting the area today, which he chalked up to his poor timing.

Once a boy, now turned a man, his coat had grown thick. Scruffy and unkempt in his nomadic lifestyle. Dark ears contrasting against his head shot up, his blocky skull following as he caught the sound of footsteps. Instinctively, he tensed. A second later, a voice called out. A slight turn of his head to the left revealed a flash of black fur, some distance away.

Ensio narrowed his stare, albeit not disdainfully. A lash of his tail cut the air. His reply, a baritone chuff.