Home again, away again, home again. He needed to make up his mind.

He didn’t know what he wanted. The roguish male looked rougher than ever having been alone for so long now. His body was thin and underfed, his fur looking dirty and unkempt not helped by his lack of tail and tattered right ear. Mugen looked a mess. Being raised by rogues wasn’t exactly the best way to get a start in life and coming back to a land where thieves were fairly easily thwarted and his general personality not easily accepted didn’t help. Unfortunately things like that didn’t just leave the wolf. He cleared his throat looking up at the sky that was bright blue, high noon, and quite the warm spring day. He had managed thus far to find nothing too filling and night… well, that hasn’t exactly been a trip in the park either. It looked like his time as a loner needed to come to an end, he needed to find a home, and Moladion was that home, its packs were the lands Mugen figured he was being forced to deal with.

Where? The male pondered this as he moved his way towards the river, lowering his head and giving several full laps of water, before rolling himself head first into it. He splashed allowing the water to consume him and his skinny form, it pushed him down a little ways only because of his slightness, but soon he regained himself and pulled himself from its grips. It wasn’t hard, he stuck to the shallows for a reason. He knew he was mortal, knew he was going to need help from a pack of some sort soon. Asteraia was no longer owned by his family. He passed by, their scent was long gone from the lands. Diveen was probably still filled with the prissy angels, Taviora the pushovers, and Spriane with the ever nobel mountain blood. What did that leave him? Iromar, Asteraia and Glorall he guessed. He needed information, knowledge on who owned them and what they were like. Traveling to each one probably was for the best, perhaps one would take pity on him?

He shook his head, a wry grin crossing his maw. The pale coated male climbed from the water and shook himself as vigorously as he could, freeing his coat from the days of travel filth that was laced in his fur. He certainly didn’t smell much better though, not that it mattered. He would finish cleaning himself then go to the closest pack, which he guessed would be Iromar from here. Then work from there, Glorall then back up to Asteraia. In time he would figure out which one would fit him the best, despite how much he hated the notion. He guessed he could always pull the ‘I am Iblis and Rhae’s son’ trick. They were loved and well liked. If he did that well… he could probably get a pass in anywhere. Or at least a meal… Taviora was ripe for that. So kind and gentle no way they would turn him down… also a thought, but less thinking more cleaning. If he was going to be a starving prince or a starving joinee, well he at least needed to look a little more decent than he did and that would take a lot of work.