It was different now. The air had a kind of shiver to it...no. It was something else. Taviora felt different. It no longer felt like home. Trees were downed and the small creek to the right of Jago that he had frequented had dried up into nothing. There were no birds calling into the twilight to bring their mates home to bunker down for the night ahead. Perhaps this was what the outskirts of all territories were like. It was deafeningly quiet...and seemed to be wrong to be here. Jago lurched forward into the familiar paths of his once pack as new smells collided with his over-sensitive now-scarred nose. A scrap here and there for morsels of food in the outlands had left him aged and better suited to fight and had left him hungry for something more than the torso of a small chipmunk. He sought acceptance and wondered if he would still be remembered by the pack somehow. After the warthog they had killed many seasons ago he had fled but not abandoned. Pack life did not seem right to him, so he floated about instead of making a permanent home.

Making his way into the heart of the pack, Jago searched for any sign of a familiar face. There were none, just as he had expected. He was sure they were off hunting for the young or off mating or whatever it was that partnered wolves did. The thought curled his lip in disgust. Females were not to be messed with, even if the overpowering scent of heat was unbearable.

Jago slapped his haunches to the ground and threw back his head, letting his familiar rough howl rip through the coming night. He was back again and this time he meant to be remembered.

*ooc wow this is really shitty im so sorry i'll get better i promise*

male russet/black/white 38in 183lbs taviora imprint mate ariel