Just as his mother attempted to deny it, something in Avtandil pulled him closer to Iromar once more. Half of his family still resided in the moors, their fates unknown, while his other mother had seemed to vanish from the world. He did not go looking for her, understanding he needed to keep her whereabouts a secret if need be. Instead he prowled the lines between Glorall and the moors he had once called home. Just before he entered the territory, he knew he was doing wrong. He did not belong in this pack. By sight and smell, he was a longer and unaffiliated with anyone. He knew how his heart beat though. His mothers’ loyalties beat fiercely in his chest.

He sniffed at the clearly marked territory line and hesitated. Having been raised in a pack he knew the rules that surrounded strangers entering another’s land. Now being homeless and shoved from his own turf, he did not feel particularly supportive of pack life or the rules that would have held it together, or others at peace. In fact, he stared at the ground and bared his teeth, feeling as though the rules that prevented him from entering the seaside pack were arbitrary and weak. These rules should have protected Iromar, they should have called the others to the side of the fallen pack when the uncalled blood had been spilled. Instead, the neighbors stood idly by. As if the threat meant nothing to them. As if it were all...arbitrary.

The young man growled low in his chest. Still, he was not the man who had taken over Iromar. He supposed he would play by their rules, if only to make things easier on him. Avtandil lifted his muzzle into the air and let out a simple call to inform the wolves of Glorall he was there. He was a visitor, he meant no harm, but he was coming in anyway. If they so chose to approach him, that would be their choice.

His dark body moved through the reeds, marshes, and foliage that separated Iromar from Glorall. Where hot moisture met cold air mists and fog rolled in heavy blankets. He was both concealed and stark against the patches, depending on how the wind blew. Young, but filling out his body was starting to lose its puppy fat and flab, slowly starting to shape into a build created for fighting. Coupled with his parents’ attitudes, Avtandil would eventually not be one to tangle with. As it was, prowling as close as he could get to Iromar, he still was in no mood to be challenged, he just simply did not have the experience to back up any verbal bite he might deliver.