[j] i was the fear of man

Leaving behind what was familiar and equally loved was never an easy choice; arduous and made with a heavy heart, it had been necessary Cyril found, nevertheless. He could have stayed but there was so much more beyond the plateau overlooking the sea that he had grown up on. The idea of adventure seduced Cyril, leaving the DiSarrino wanting. Smitten as he was with the idea, even after he had confirmed parting from Aquila's Rise was what he wanted to do, he had not upped and left without preparations. Things had been discussed, though Cyril did not have many loose ends to tie. He had never taken a mate and did not sire any children which made his decisions measurably easier. The roots he had had since birth were easier to uproot in that sense. He had heard of the Teekon Wilds through word of mouth, for the Redlead-DiSarinno clan was vast and there were rumors he had a few uncles and maybe a cousin or two in the lands, last time he'd heard.

The sun had began to rise painting the skies a myriad of colors, vibrant and brilliant strokes as if painted by an artists' hands. He was bearing the borders of a pack, their scent markings becoming stronger with each step forward Cyril took. He was surrounded by towering mountains on all sides, and for a brief moment was overcome with a bought of claustrophobia, before he shook it off. This vale with nestled contently and safely in the hollow between the towering peaks earth. It was defensible, the warden in him admired. Footfalls ceased when he was a respectable distance between the scent markers and himself, fixing his posture into a lower, neutral stance, having watched plenty of wolves approach Aquila's Rise in a similar manner when he apprehended them until one of his parents had arrived to take over.

Taking a deep breath Cyril let out a howl, stating an interest in joining their ranks before he let it fade, ears swiveling to catch its faint echo in the distance.