Deepwood Weald Some say the end is near

At some point, there was a pack here. He could have sworn while staying on the coast that he had crossed by the borders of this pack - but as he wandered closer to the woods, their scent seemed to have weakened since then. A shame. As he began to search for the perfect land to claim for the Nightwalkers, he was also taking note of any packs he might cross along the way.

Carefully, step by step, ears poised at the top of his head, alert to all sounds that surrounded him as his nose remained close to the ground. Dissecting the scent of the individuals who once claimed these woods as their own. His pace was slow, methodical, like an aristocrat at dinner as they slowly picked apart their meal bit by bit. He had to be absolutely certain that these woods were left unclaimed before continuing on his journey through the wilderness.

With his senses on high alert, certain that one of the pack's wolves would come out after him at any second for trespassing - he snaped into an aggressive stance at the sound of a twig snapping. Fiery orbs focussing on where the sound had come from, ears pulled forward as hackles rose with his maw splitting into a horrible sharp grimace. Stepping forward, a terrible growl resonated deep within his chest as he threatened whoever was hidden in the brush. Whoever it was, he was ready to attack... or defend, whatever it was that was there.