[Ruslan is not intending to cross borders to be disrespectful, I'd say hes not super far inland but not really sure how borders are laid out?)

pity the man who once walked ashe and bone, the god that crossed the sea and walked the ocean's floor that once was littered in color until it caught the fever of the world. the world so unkept above the ever fast skies. its there where he watches, momentary eyes that cross up to the sky in a day-dream that keeps him still. quiet as the trees on an idle day, rooted but motionless unlike the creek-bed that pulls an ear of his to the left first. slow motions, its reactionary. first that ear would twist, then the lower of his broad, shepard like nose to sit even in realization of cotton mouth that had pulled itself from the water-bank. sliding carefully, in his own time across the stones heated by the warm sun as if it lived for such a thing. himself, well you could guess his opinion on the sun based by the fact he was currently settled under a sycamore but you would be wrong. the heat always drawed the past for him, like some sort of half assed sketch he would do when he was two neat whiskeys under, self proclaimed artist of the century he was.

undetected he had been so far, mostly by the snake who still just took his time in going wherever he had set his destination too. borders close, a man dependent and head-strung in rules that cross the idea of leadership and homage. a respect to that, ideally in the word of law and forthcoming of that in ones name. ready to be found with guns drawn and flash-light deposed

The patrol had been long and, until now, fairly uneventful. Neither of the pups he had taken in seemed to have an interest in the arts of war, but rather healing, which was a disappointment to him but hardly surprising considering their mother had been a healer as well, and she'd always been far gentler than he thought wise to have allowed flourishing within their family. Then again, he far preferred the lack of trouble she brought the family over the various crazies that his father had kept around and encouraged by the sin of omission. If either child had been interested in following in a more martial path, he would have brought them with him as he patrolled. It would be good for them to get into the habit of doing it properly from a young age, and any trouble upon the border would be a teaching experience. They were, of course, too young to be allowed to get involved in a border skirmish, but watching from a safer distance would be good seasoning for a pup, and later as they learned to fight he could have involved them more closely in patrols. You could never start pups learning too young, as far as he was concerned. It was too bad they were not interested, and it made him yearn for his own pups to mold from birth to be what an Abraxas should be. He would, of course, help these two to find mentors fit for them. The family needed healers as well. But it simply wouldn't be the same as...

His head came up suddenly, his musing cut off midthought, as a scent caught his attention. This was a strip of land he'd already patrolled today, overlayed now with the hot scent of a stranger who had passed, wittingly or no, into Abraxas lands. He turned onto the track immediately, following it to the creek and the escort of sycamores that marched down its bank, until he spotted the stranger's form beneath the shade of one of the trees. His militaristic bearing stiffened, polished gold eyes chilling noticeably. The pack's lands were clearly marked - there was no excuse for a wolf to be wandering the territories as if they were loner lands, free to be explored and used. No excuse at all to be lounging relaxed and carefree as though they were not intruding upon the sovereign lands of the Abraxas. It was, frankly, offensive to the deeply proper gentleman of war.

Head and tail high, the phantom marched along the track to the fool's resting place, making no effort to hide his coming. "Trespassers are not tolerated within the borders of the Risen Empire," his low voice rumbled disapprovingly. His tall form had fallen easily into a battle stance, ready for trouble, but he held back from attacking at once, the diamond-sharp edges of fury only heightening his senses, kept on a short leash rather than driving him as some of his kin were prone to. "If you leave now, without trouble, and do not return, you will be allowed to do so in peace. If you do not, you will be set out regardless and I will be forced to maim you for the trouble - or I will be burying you. It is your choice." Deep and cool, his voice gave no sign of agitation or anger, but his gaze was hard-edged and calculating as he swept it over the smaller wolf.

a name, it's crossed on the lips of the broad shouldered man who he had watched walk up with little reaction. perhaps the extension of his toes in one paw, nothing noticeable as they hid in the grass that kept him cushioned in his position. idle calculations as his eyes swept over the broad back of the man before him who spoke information and threats that brought his brows high as if in false reaction. apologetic, perhaps, but with no sense of disrespect as his body eventually rose. (his hand dropping the cigarette that had been lit on his walk up, such a waste, but time came for respect even if the way he held his shoulders was little of that.) "the risen empire." repetition, he repeats it as if for confirmation that he had said it right with distant accent that resembled something of the women of his past. he'd like to think he sold it well. "the coast too? the brine in the air confuses creatures all the fucking time." curiosity peaked, he'd finally fully rise and straighten himself well. cut stone, but not the porcelain of the dolls that you see in the movies but of something more disguised and real. bruised and distant, its in his eyes as they fall behind the mans shoulder with a throw of his nose. "cottonmouth behind you, nasty bite they have." act of good faith perhaps, he wasn't one to make declarations of whether or not the man could take a snake in his bare hands because frankly it wasn't any of his business. it wasn't as if it was an instant thread, as it still lingered maybe 15ft off behind them

his eyes draw back, the fold of one ear as he turns to his left, steadying himself on an broad shoulder with bent knees and hair atop his neck that showed an effort to rise. hostility was ruining the world and what was he going to do about it? nothing. "forced to maim." the start of a conversation, his eyes are thrown in an attempt to catch the un-named fox of the creek to pull information. he could only but assume he was going to be walked out, but he would wait until he joined him in a shoulders length. he was carefree but he wasn't stupid, he'd remind his girls that everytime they thought they were going to sneak out into the jungle. "forced by your own moral or are you kept on a chain?" tongue creasing lips, its eager yet careful the way his questions leave his tongue. like trying to balance a swing back to complete and utter stillness after taking a few good pushes.