Discontent

The Warlord completed his patrols through the forest, and made his way back into the Col. He grabbed a small bite to eat, chewing as he walked through the grassy fields across the heart of the pack. His children were starting to reach for their ranks now, and assessing them was foremost on his mind. He wanted to help them find a place where they felt like they could belong, where they would blossom.

He ducked into the market where his grandson was on patrol. He nodded to the tallest darn brute he had ever met as he passed Basilisk. Running a patrol through the area, with the intention of heading out to the beach territory last. That was the quietest front for the Armada, but it would not do to neglect it.

Before he could pass out of the market, he saw Grimore making his way through the marketplace as well. As their eyes connected he saw recognition in the other wolfs eyes, and felt that he had been ‘found’ he slowed his pace so Grimoire could catch up with him and speak whatever was on his mind.


"Speech"