Morne liked the forest, plenty of places to hide himself. The old grizzled dire kept his head low to the earth, inhaling the different scents that the earth held. "My my, there seems to be a lot of youse guys here.." he spoke to himself, voice deep and gravely. There were many wolves living here, or at least many of them passing through this place. That was both good and bad for the brute, good because that meant scavenging food would be easier but bad because more wolves. It was no secret to anyone with the misfortune of association with Morne that he did not enjoy the company of his own kind. Hell, he hardly tolerated the vultures and other carrion birds he would frequently dine with. Morne liked to keep minimal contact with other wolves, less fighting and less of them getting on his nerves. Just seeing others had Morne tasting the bitter bile of hatred. He knew his hatred for others stemmed from his own self hatred for his crippled body, and that just made him hate himself more.

Morne continues his slow pace through the trees, nose sharp as ever trying to find him a meal. He catches the faint scent of decay, the type that comes from something that been sitting for a week or so. He begins to make his way there but stops as he hears it, the light crunch of soil being walked upon. In an instant Morne jerks his head up and swivels his head towards the noise to see another wolf walking. Hes a big fella, probably from the same blood as his. Morne watches him with dark brown, almost black, eyes from his position a few feet away. Out of habit Morne turns his left side away from the stranger, its does well to be safe rather than sorry. His ears flatten themselves to the back of his skull, he says nothing as he observes the other. His stomach gives a small rumble though, as the smell of rotting flesh hits his nose courtesy of a small breeze.