He is walking the length of the crags, stepping from outcropping to outcropping as he scales the heights, and then also comes back down. Good training, good for balance and endurance. He is determined to keep himself up, to stay healthy, to meet others who may not be like himself in soul, but are like him in desire for closeness and camaraderie. It is not a rare quality that he seeks, but then it is also not the only thing needed to befriend him, to become a part of what he wants to build here.
There are too many packs in Moladion to make a new one, but he wanted family, to raise children and to protect what was his. As he makes it to the base of the rocks, nearer the more fantastical formations that are nearer to earth than sky, he noticed something quite amiss with the little world he had grown accustomed to in his week or so spent amongst these new fandangled wolves with their new fandangled cultures. A babe, a young pup not quite even one years old.
It - he - is sitting and gnawing on what looks like your basic forest debris. It is not his intent to sneak, but he finds himself enamored. Children. A rare commodity that he could have never thought of himself ever possessing the means to have them. He is on his belly, looking at the child when he can no longer help it and a soft “boof” parts his maw and heaves his sides.
“I am Roman, who are you?” he asks at last with a merry lilt to his voice. “Are you lost?”
He is more than a little large for the young creature, but he is chin to tail against the earth, tail thumping now and then when his excitement could not be contained.
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