Boartusk Heights aquí estoy, tierra de muerte

after touring the territory with the matriarca, he cannot get off his feet. 

unsure of what work there is to be done, he takes to doing what he does best. 

if not a killer, why not a sentry?

the air is crisp, tickling his fur. but the sun beats down hot over his masked face. 

where he can, he keeps to the shade. but the course of his patrol does not waiver simply due his discomfort.