Iromar is an interesting place to him. There is much for him to do there and so, he is not particularly eager to leave come the final days of summer. He enjoys the mud, he thinks, and all the unusual reeds and plants that jut out of the murky, still waters. He finds their prey curious and already, he has spent many days simply observing their peculiar behavior as the deer move freely throughout the water and as young alligators bask in the summer sun. It is a place of great excitement and yet, it seeks only to expand his curiosity all the same. He looks beyond Iromar's borders and sees only potential and possibility. It has been a long time coming, perhaps, but he finally has a substantial reason to truly explore each and every crevice that Moladion has to offer.

Curiously, he follows the river north of Iromar and towards the mountain beyond. He understands there has been change within its territorial boundaries, though he does not entirely understand why such an event has occurred. Politics are often beyond him, a field certainly understudied during his life already and yet, he is curious enough to begin approaching. It cannot be said what truly interests him though; the mountains, the politics, the wolves or perhaps the mere river that connects the stone pillars to Iromar. After all, he sticks close to the body of water.

Summer is thick in the air and the sun beats down as he roams across the banks, ambling slowly but surely towards Spirane's southern borders. Midday is upon him and he pants as his dark fur seemingly sucks up all the heat and humidity it can; far to the east, he can see the beginnings of a summer shower and yet, he groans in mild disappointment that it is not closer. He wishes to go forward and yet, he heaves with a sigh of annoyance - the heat is foul, that he knows. Besides, he has grown hungry now. Despite his stay in Iromar, he has yet to actively hunt their prey and rather, he has taken almost exclusively to small prey. He enjoys them more anyway, he thinks. They are easier to skin and so, they are easier to fill his den with in order to create a plush, comfortable environment. When he departs, some lucky wolf of Iromar will inherit his makeshift, fur-lined hovel.

With a yawn, he ambles towards the river's edge, quickly entering the body of water until it inches past his ankles. His ears flicker with intrigue as he feels his skin instantly warm, the fresh water seemingly more refreshing than the brackish water he often finds at the mouth of Glorall's ocean. It is not entirely that, though. In the deeper reaches and the shallows off to his sides, he can see the silver flash of fish as they dart about. He whines low beneath his breath, inching forward and extending his muzzle so that he might watch them more closely. He has hunted them before and yet... he does not know this river. He will need to evaluate a suitable course of action for fish is, perhaps, one of the most delectable foods to be had.