Blacktail Deer Plateau Life Always Ends In Death

Valtýr looped a figure eight around the Plateau as he mulled over the outcome of Saena's challenge and the posturing Osprey had displayed. The waning winter season was confusing at best -- unsolvable at worst -- and the youth found himself caught up in a tangle of new growing pains. On one hand Pura sought to diligently train him in a critical way, and on the other Valtýr struggled to find his social niche. Soon, he would be testing the system - but could the firefoot ever bring himself to be as ambitious as his friends?

Caught up in these sentiments, the boy barely realized he had meandered near the borders, just on the cusp of the wilds. However, a glimmer caught his eye. There, a few leagues away, laid a molten wolf spun of gold. A stranger. The stringy hair on Valtýr's nape stood up, alarmed by the man. He appeared a wolf in his prime -- well filled and brawny compared to Val's narrow and gaunt juvenile figure.

He dared not approached the vagrant, but instead waited, observed, and openly leered.