Heart of a Bear

The Warlord had so much to do. So much so that he hadn’t taken a moment to breathe since moving. But with the crisp, cool, winter morning and nothing going awry (yet) he decided to take some time to scout out the territories near the Armada. He hadn’t spent too much time in the red forest, and it doubled as a chance to catch some time to himself and gather intel for the Armada.

Marshal caught the sight of the stranger first. Flitting through the giant frames of the trees, he cried a soft warning to the Warlord. Directing his attention to his right shoulder. Turning and slipping around the trees himself, he found what had alerted his companion. The wolf was average in height, but his horns - like that of a sable antelope, stood out. Almost drawing his eyes away from his thicker paws. But this, despite being less noticeable than the horns, stood out more to the Warlord. The only other wolf he had seen with the likes of them was his own son. Interesting indeed. “Hello, enjoying the cool morning?” he asked.

"Speech"