Ravensblood Forest Trees of Crimson

Setting: Evening–19:00, Clear Skies, 57 degrees.

Head level with his spine, Donovan skulls about Ravensblood Forest. The trees finally have begun to bear leaves and the sun peeks playfully through them. Splotching the ground with the fiery light of the evenings setting sun, he brushes his side against one of many trees, nourishing it with his scent. Off to the next tree only to do the same, except he lifts his leg to relieve himself onto the trunk.

Battle has heightened his senses and his ears swivel in every direction, listening to the call of nature. Even though some would’ve taken him for a spoiled king, he was actually quite the opposite. Too often did he join the battlefield alongside his pack, as a leader should. Though, those were the old days. Unaware he’ll every hold the rank in his pack every again, he carries onward.

Walking along through the trees, he continues marking the area. Daring something to come forth and speak with him. After all, he needs new information on his current whereabouts.