No rest for the wicked

The ageing Warlord felt an itch in his toes. It had been many years since he had spent any amount of time exploring, and decided to indulge the wanderlust growing inside of him. He left the pack in the capable paws of Hazel and Isa and made his way over to the battlefield. The barren land had always been familiar to him, but he noted changes in the landscape. The way the world moved on when he wasn't paying attention to it. It always caught him by surprise, especially when his memories and life had been abnormally long. How much time did Sirius have left? Perhaps not much. But he wouldn't go out without a fight.

A smile growing on his maw, he stretched out his paws and fell into a ground eating lope. Ending it at the centre of the bloodstained land. Here, he lifted his muzzle and sent out a call. Challenging any that might be in hearing of his howl.