Dawnlark Plains θ

fury leads him away from the cache and into open land. a mind heavy, a crown even heavier. thoughts of turmoil. thoughts of chaos. he does not trust and he is not trusted.

his mind turns to a hunt, and he scents the air. only to find rot, carrion; his nose curls, and red eyes search. it is there he sees the bearskin man, and blackfell circles briefly, imprinting his paws upon the snow, chin raised, chuffing over the distance between them.

it is taut.

this is the man who won the snow woman from his cousin, the one from the meeting.