What to do... Where to begin... Icarus was officially a wolf grown. Four years old this spring! It was madness. Sure, he was the result of a smooth talking wolf spending some.. inappropriate time with his mother, but at least Tyrion was decent and stuck around. The male had been blessed in that he was not tall, but still taller than his sire. Yet he made up for it in his ability to throw his weight around. There weren't many that Icarus was going to back down from. A smirk flashed across his maw as he trotted through the Crags.

It was decent enough outside for the time being. The sky and the trees in the distance were eerily still, like some harsh weather would be coming in. Icarus scrunched his nose slightly as he scented the air. The wind just was not moving in any direction. It was highly disconcerting. The caramel coated lad gave himself a good shake to try and stay the heavy feeling in his gut. It wouldn't be too much of an issue, he told himself.

His mis-matched eyes darted back and forth as he eyed the terrain about him. Lessons with Nymeria had reminded him to be mindful of his surroundings. He was already disadvantaged to the left, the brilliant black that was his iris distracted from by the cloudiness of the pupil. As a result, he was always alert. He had no desire to have someone sneak up on him. And on a day like today? He felt comfortable in his mindfulness of his surroundings. The question was... what to do?