Life had settled into a rather dull sort of monotony for the ragged warrior. In times past he was much more familiar with a life of struggle, of fighting for survival or for whatever cause had begun the war he was fighting. Sure some probably enjoyed the steady, perhaps even lazy pace of everyday life but he wasn’t sure it was for him. He had been in the moors over a year now at the invitation of Aithne herself, but he had yet to accomplish the task laid before him. Fighting another wolf for a position is something he hadn’t thought to do before, the idea of possible hurting, even killing this Arkane a constant fear in the back of his head. So he stuck to his self-appointed task of watch dog for those within, patrolling the borders to ensure those within stayed safe and that those without stayed just that: out.

The sun was high in the brilliant summer sky as he made his rounds, mindful of where the tepid water pooled amongst the reeds and tall grasses. The moorlands could be treacherous to those who didn’t know what dangers it could hold, craggy mires waiting to swallow up unsuspecting wolves whole. He had prevented more than one wolf from discovering these dangers first hand, but never stuck around much after; he wasn’t one to socialize without need after all. He was following the familiar paths when a startlingly unfamiliar scent caught his attention. His brow furrowed, brilliant emerald eyes searching for the source of the foreign smell. The scent didn’t belong to a grown wolf, of that he was sure, and so it wasn’t some interloper come to cause trouble, still it was his duty to watch these boarders.

Crimson muzzle to the ground he followed the scent until he caught an odd sounds, a squeaking whimper of sorts that was hard to pinpoint in the wide open expanses of the heather. Being a warrior had honed his senses however and with some trouble he was able to pinpoint where he believed the noise to be coming from. Cautiously he approached one of the few sparse trees that dotted the otherwise flat landscape, head and body low to the ground in case something unexpected awaited him. Peering over the grasses he saw only the gnarled roots of the marsh tree, his white tipped ears tilting in confusion for surely whatever had been making noise before was in fact here. Slowly he stalked forward, plush ears twitching this way and that in case this was perhaps an ambush laid for the uplands pack.

Only when he is practically on top of her does he notice the small bundle of wolf curled in and about herself. She is almost invisible with her silvery gray coat coated with the brown muck she had no doubt been crawling through. For a moment he steps back, wondering who he could go retrieve to take care of the tiny pup, a job he had never imagined for himself. Mentally he was already walking away, she was unlikely to go anywhere and he wasn’t a mother in any sense of the word. It was then that a small whimper wracked her tiny body, shaking her from head to toe and she turned her wide, earthy green eyes on him. With that he was a goner, stepping back to her before lowering his head and running his nose over her body, investigating for any injuries that might explain why she was here, alone.

She seemed healthy enough, despite being too thin and seemingly exhausted, and so whatever hardened heart he possessed melted for the tiny girl. It was a foolhardy thing to do, especially one who so believed that only the strong should survive in this harsh world, but he reached forward and easily took her scruff into his mouth. He carried her as quickly as possible without jostling her too much, whining softly in response to her own sad sounds. She was light as a feather and he knew it would take more than his near nothing knowledge of pups to help her. Only when he reached the heart of the pack lands did he stop, nestling the girl between his large paws and crouching enough to share his own warmth with her, before tipping back his thick head. His deep, baritone song rang proudly through the land seeking someone, anyone, to help them both.