The Sentinels i will wait under the tow like lions do

he moved at a slow amble, his brow worried by a perpetual frown and a sweeping semblance of misery seemed to trail him. he had trailed lusca for weeks without success -- he had found her scent once on the strand, but nothing since. he had spent night after night calling for her. pacing for her. pining for her.

during his neurotic searching he had many times come across the heavily scented borders -- he had avoided them, knowing well the bounty one placed on their necks if found within territory. but he could stave his needs no longer -- his obsessive search had cost him greatly: he was ragged, bones barely held together by loose and sunken skin. he stopped where he stood, collapsing wearily into a dejected curl.

he had given up.