His journey out of Moladion had been comparably short to many others he had taken. He had left with no true direction and yet, he had returned with just as little, seemingly drawn back to Moladion just as he had been drawn to it. For whatever reason, Moladion had continued to fascinate him - perhaps the sheer number of strangers intrigued him, their minds ripe for the picking. He had come to thrive off the bizarre things these wolves said and did, their communal nature unlike any he had lived among. The loners, however, had begun to lose their lustre...

Perhaps that is why he had found himself entering the land from the south. He bypassed the lands of the loners and skimmed the borderline of Taviora, fascinated by the looming peaks that had watched over him for several seasons. In his mind, it was easy to rationalize that the stronger of the wolves would reside in such a place, their endurance surely unmatched and their survivability impressive. If he sought something new and exciting, he had little doubts that he'd find it there.

With little thought to it, he passed through the borders, his nose to the ground and body low as his dark form inched up the mountainside. He sought nothing in particular but rather, he hunted after the most recent scent, his eyes fixated forward as he seemed to mechanically search. He had found the scent of a male, young but not a child but most importantly, healthy. Though he preferred the sick and vulnreable, he saw no reason to test those of a pack that he knew would be weak. Instead, he wanted this particular wolf.

His approach of the stranger was not subtle. He moved in a crude way, his head having jerked up suddenly with a flare of his nostrils as the male appeared in his sights; his ears swiveled forward and tail rose somewhat, a learned habit from those that wished to agitate others. He posed himself in much the same way a wolf defending his own borders might, a huff of warning issued to gain the male's attention.