Overture Downs I can hold my own hand

The foreigner Shea continued south in search of his family; a half-brother with a wife and kids, a niece and nephews he had never met. He had not given up on his quest, but he was fast losing faith. He had only discovered a single pack since leaving the borders of Sapphique and no territory he had crossed lately held any sign of his kin or strangers aside.

Still, he was a ranger at heart. He would search and scour these lands until defeat turned to victory. It did occur to him that this might not be possible, but Shea would not give up without assuring himself that he had sniffed every mile and exhausted all possible avenues, else he would never be satisfied.

Ahead, amongst the hilly landscape, the traveler spotted a pale figure. His crooked, copper tail lifted and wagged, eagerly displaying his interest in the prospect of scratching a social itch. Hullo! he called out for the other’s attention in his distinguished Scottish brogue, looking for a reaction as he waited to see if he should come closer or stay away.