Blackfoot Forest hit them right between the eyes

The quiet of the Blackfoot Forest was all that Altair needed, for the past year he had lived in woods similar to these. Keeping his head low and problems to himself. An easy enough task to do when living alone and crossing paths with only a very remote number of other canines. The vagrant kept to a slow pace as he moved down a well worn trail, no point wasting his energy by rushing around since Altair was never quite sure when or where his next meal would come.

Piercing jade green eyes spotted a dark figure in the shadows, his ears rising alertly. Any usual meeting with a stranger would cause the rouge to simply shrug and walk on without a second thought. Yet the scent of this she-wolf was familiar and as he slowed down to a near halt it would take Altair a fleeting moment to work out where they had met before. Their previous encounter had been brief but was this not the Shabanu of Tartok? Providing his memory served him well of course, the scent engrained in his memory. Perhaps it was just because he did not come across that many muscular female wolves with coats as dark as the night sky.

The creamy hilt of the Prince's maw was raised slightly, nearing her now and aiming to stand directly in her path. "Tartok." A single word, a name and nothing more. It was just a test to see if it meant anything to her. To him it was a well known pack name, a clan of mercenaries that had lived in a nearby valley as he grew up as a child. Sure enough when Samarkand disbanded he had run into them again - where he had met Tonravik before.