Occasionally, though more often than others in Iromar, Zaqar needed to escape. The frequent mists were too dim, the earth too dank, and his peers too flippant. The boy – for he was still just that, a boy – was too serious for those younger than him, but there were none his age or even slightly older than him who would prove to be good company. Yes, his older siblings were there, but he feared their potential resentment despite his growing feeling that perhaps he was chosen as heir for a reason.

Simply put, Zaqar was in a social mood, but did not wish to socialize within the pack, and so he made his way on his fleet russet feet to the Ruieze Field. It was everything Iromar was not: open sky, golden grasses, dry earth beneath his paws. With every inhale, the sourness of Iromar was pushed further from his mind. The swamp had its benefits of masking steps and many hiding places, but everyone was prone to being a bit stir crazy, no matter where one called home.

This was his first time outside the pack on his own. Ishtar had taken him on an adventure several times, but until now he had deemed it unnecessary to go without her. Now that she had a new litter in addition to alpha duties, she could hardly be bothered to leave with her son who was perfectly capable of holding his own.

Within several minutes of reaching his destination, a din reached his ears. It was as if a pack was congregating here, but the scents were mingled in a displeasing manner so it was impossible to determine who belonged where. Traveling further, he saw the first of the large group. How odd to find such a collection of wolves without a similar scent. He recognized but one: Gaara, one of the few in Iromar who did not sport a mostly black pelt.

Directing his gaze to the rest of the group, he scanned over each wolf in turn, hoping to perhaps stumble upon someone interesting enough to approach for conversation.