Wounded Pride and an Empty Stomach

The Warlord let his tail sway gently in the air behind him. Feeling the chill of winter settling into his nose, and the pads of his feet. He hadn’t intended to remain for much longer in the North, but he was also curious about this stranger. The grumpy part of him considered simply claiming the wolf as his own, fighting him for that right, and then leaving. Much quicker than standing here, and the exercise would warm him. But not he was turning a new leaf. His Wife had been angry enough with him the last time he had done such a thing.

His breath clouding the air before him, he shook his head. “No, never heard of it. That's where you call home?” he clarified. He turned his head to the sky, searching for a sign of his winged companion. He and the others had left on a hunt, well the Warlord scouted. He expected them to have returned to him by now.

“Do you want to take a walk? It’ll warm the both of us” he suggested, though he hadn’t seen any sign that the man was taking to the chill as he was. Perhaps his home had also been a frigid place.