Fox's Glade silver basilisk

the brisk breaking of a thinly clouded dawn heralded the return of stigmata to fox's glade. his approach cajoled the early birds of lore - sending them all scattering into a flurry of flustered feathers and offended cries as he marched across their pecking grounds - and he duteously ignored their trodden livelihoods; a plight immaterial to his own.

the wolf prowled along a roofless hall leading him through the wooded quarter of the dale, his pace casual but his destination already determined. he toted a posture that crowned him alert and formidable - despite whatever he might have gone through in the last few weeks - and this, accented by his char-smoked hide skinning a warhound's raw physique, made him seem unapproachable. a mis-classed villain, steeling his way through life the way he wanted to; at all times driven by sheer will and personal commitment.

he had his eyes on the sunspires, and his sights had not drifted yet.

@Treason