There had been too much activity on their borders lately. Tychon was getting tired of all the idiots deciding that Spirane was the place to seek brief reprieve from the disastrous lowlands. His heart didn’t feel any warmer toward the young howl at the border. If Spirane wanted any part of Moladion drama, Kalseru would send him or Aurelia out to investigate crap and bring subjects to her. Thats was tracker did… except that Tychon also kept his old role of scouting the border. He was unwilling to give the job up, and so he continued it. Kalseru had yet to tell him to stop, so he wouldn’t. Tychon marched toward the howl, even though it was meant for Kalseru. Self-important rats that thought the Bewilderbeast had time for trivial meetings on the outskirts of her territory. Here was news: they didn’t deserve the top-priority status of her. So they got him.

His muscles well defined beneath his brunette fur as he moved. Winter did that; thinned him up because of low prey, and exposed his conditioning. His thinness was not attractive despite its exposure of muscle. Though he was not dangerously underweight, it was enough for a keen eye to know winter wasn’t pleasant in the mountains.

The gauntness made his eyes crueler, and as he crested a hill to look down at the yearling, they only appeared to deepen with distaste. Spirane didn’t need more mouths - especially greedy, growing, puppy mouths - to take prey from them. His tongue slide over the mutilation of his left lip to keep it wet: it was a habit he was now powerless to prevent. He wanted to chase her off, but all of his experiences with these newbies had lead him toward a different tact since Spirane was determined to keep a foolish, “neutral and fair” stance on everything. Tychon huffed his displeasure and descended the slope to her.

“What you do want?” He rasped, the damage of his voice box inevitably making his voice horrific.