He was restless. Though his sentence as prisoner within the walls of Iromar had long dissipated he had remained within the swamp lands for the past few months, accepting a proposition from Aithne and gauging if he could truly call the place ‘home’. Well, as much a home as he would ever had. He was made for moving about, following the changing tides as they crossed from one realm to another and whatever ruler therein rose to power. Not that he didn’t like Aithne, he respected her enough as was his nature. She was not some frilly, petty woman but rather one who had shown strength and intellect as displayed on the day they had taken down the alligator. Yes, he could respect her and so he could follow her, but still it tensed him to be so… stable.

That is what sent him out today. His thick legs churning like a well-oiled machine as he jogged out of the main swampland and followed the river as it wound toward the mountains. The seasons were changing, the air cooling especially in the evenings as it did now even while the sun sank lower on the horizon. He needed a release, something to calm him mentally if not physically, even more so now that he had a spar approaching with Arkane. It was a task laid before him to judge Arkane’s abilities as it was Arkane’s task to fight spar, two birds with one stone as it were. However it would be foolhardy of him to rush into the spar, pent up as his warrior spirit was these days. He was made for the clashing of teeth and the crunching of bone, not border patrols and if he were to spar with Arkane at this moment odds are one of them would wind up cold and bleeding on the ground.

No, he had to be careful about this, methodical as he was about everything when it came to training and with that his powerful strides became a bit faster. Perhaps he would hunt, give his fangs and mind something to occupy themselves and if it sated him enough he would know to take down prey before his spar and not label himself a point blank murderer. With his mind made up he was beginning to follow the path away from the river and toward the crags to find his target when the sound of splashing caught his attention. He slowed, pausing a few yards from the river, as his large head swiveled to see where the disturbance had come from. As he heard the sound again his eyes caught the sparkle of water flying in the air just over a small rise and he trotted forward, curiosity getting the better of him.

He crested the hill just in time to see a brilliantly white she-wolf slipping from the water and onto the riverbank clutching a large object between her jaws. It wasn’t until she set her prize down to shake the water from her coat that he saw it was a fish. One corner of his black lips quirked up, fishing not a thing many wolves possessed the abilities to do so well and so he gave her points for that. He slipped down the easy slope, making no move to conceal himself or quiet the heavy sounds of his paw steps. “Fish aren’t very good at fighting back,” his baritone voice rumbles from the depths of his chest with a deep chuckle as he stops a comfortable distance away. “Not that they aren’t a challenge, I just prefer something that can bite back,” he finishes with a toothy grin, a little more forward and cheeky than was normal for the brute, but he could chalk that up to the tension.