While he healed, he had been restrained to rather... mundane tasks. For the most part, he had been isolated near his den, continuously seen to for a wound that seemed stubborn in its own right. If one positive had come of it then it had been the fact that Cersei had begun to hunt once more, or at least had been slowly improving. The first day, she had brought him a meager meal of some several mice but now, she brought gull hatch-lings and even a crab or two at a time. Still, between she and Riopat, he felt as if he would heal and be once more exhausted from the sheer amount of work he would need to do to pay them back. On top of it all, his daughter had made mention of Octavia returning, something that filled him with both excitement and uncertainty. She had been gone so long, after all. Had Caligula brought her back? Would she, too, be returning? It seemed like Jumanji was only the first of his worries.

Slowly but surely, though, he had regained more and more movement. Though he still walked stiffly and with a slow ache, he hardly seemed to be the cripple he might have appeared as not so long ago. His pride, too, had quickly returned and even now, with the two women distracted elsewhere, he had made his move to escape his solitary confinement. He had broken away from his den and trekked through the sparse forest, finding the borders where he and Jumanji had clashed and quickly taking it upon himself to... clean the area of such a scent. Weak as it might have been, it frustrated him to think any wolf might question his skill by noticing the foreign markings. He might have been even a little haughty in his actions before slowly making his way along the invisible borderlands of his home. It felt good to stretch his muscles despite their whispers of protest and it felt even better to admire the place he had fought for; it was just what he needed, really.

It seemed that he had been out there for some hour or two before the howl came; it was an unknown one and yet, masculine. It was as if a switch had been flipped for instantly, his posture raised and straightened, his stride increasing in length and speed as he instantly took off towards the sound. Though it did not resonate with threat nor challenge, he could never be entirely certain. He was still on edge and a flash of adrenaline heated his blood as he caught sight of the much larger male. Vaguely, however, the male seemed somewhat familiar, or at least, his appearance struck a chord - had he heard, perhaps, involving a wolf of such a look who reeked of the bogs? It had been a long time since he had tried to recall any stories of the past, and yet he called out nonetheless at his approach, his tail arched as he paced towards Samael.

"You seem all too familiar. Do tell me, you have not come to deliver me some message from Jumanji, have you?"

He was straight to the point as he came to stand before him then, keeping a distance between the two. He had no intention to fall even to this male and whereas he hoped for a positive outcome, one could not blame him for his caution. After all, Iromar had a knack for housing or consorting with obnoxious wolves and he had no doubt Jumanji might have run back at some point or another. They both had roots there, and Iromar had always been impartial towards those facts. Hell, they had not even offered a true alliance despite their king's sister residing with Glorall as the Hand. If there was any pack that might operate as some sort of medium, then he was sure it'd be Iromar.

Still, he attempted to correct his posture to something less... on edge, something more neutral. He might have been warm with adrenaline and post-challenge suspicion, but he had to remember that it might have easily have been to, say, congratulate him. Perhaps something had happened to his mother, her mate, or even a wolf of Glorall. There were thousands of options. Which one would it be?