He moves like a shadow, like a bad dream made real into the pack lands of Glorall. He has heard many rumors of the wolf at the helm of this particular ship, and its previous captain. He wondered what the true story was there, why the sudden change of rank without even the slightest battle. No matter, Baphomet enjoys creating disorder, and if he can cause this once king to rise again. He has heard, through his pack's own mouths that the supposed brother of this wolf has been slain in the land of angels. By one of his wolves, it mattered not who committed the crime against the imprint, it only mattered that Baphomet cause something of an upset within the ranks of this particular pack. He moves silently until he comes across a shallow crossing, spotting the not too distant island. He would come there, howl, and see what or who came running first.

              Baphomet is expressing your weaknesses, using the wintery distraction of the supposed alpha male, and the subsequent laziness of the rest of the pack to his advantage. He cares not for the biting cold of the waters, but one can smell the salt of it, one can taste the wildness of this pack land in the air. He hears voices as he travels across the small island, moving instantly in this direction, his red tipped ears cupping forward to catch the words of the smaller wolf. "Tsk tsk, you know sometimes those things are actually important." Baphomet let the smirk rise into his eyes, a genuine half smile as he watched the wolves before him. The dark one fit his description, the one who's relative was slain by an intruder. No doubt this would tug some heart strings. Baphomet sits as if he belongs, his mouth closing after announcing his presence. Truly someone should have been there to catch him coming into the land, but no one could catch the shadow. His multi-hued dark eyes watch the two, hoping to gain some kind of reaction.