I choose… violence!

When it came to the western lands of Boreas, fall and the subsequent arrival of winter tended to be a relief more than anything, at least according  to Veigar. Though he'd grown up in these parts he never quite loved baking under the hot summer sun. He much preferred the cooler seasons that followed. The cooler, cloudier days had a way of making Veigar feel a little less reclusive - not that he tended to wander too far from home anyway. Under the watchful eye of his raven companion though his traveling radius was growing, slowly but surely.

He was sure he'd come this way before, but it was unfamiliar enough that he couldn't be entirely certain. He moved slowly, nose low to the ground and he tested the scents here and imprinted them into memory. This place was plentiful with prey animals, with water, with... wolves, among other creatures. At least one currently, judging by the young scent that he caught wind of. Interesting.

At least a kid was less of a threat than a fully grown wolf. He moved slowly, not as though he expected he could go completely undetected, but he liked to hear who he was about to roll up on before he made his presence known. Before he could get much closer though he heard the sound of a scuffle. Veigar stood a bit taller, feeling his fur bristle uncomfortably. Surely they weren't fighting over a spot here at this watering hole? The humidity in the air told him this was far bigger than a puddle.

"Not enough room for the two of you?" He called out, unsure whether he was making the right assumption about what was going on but speaking with as much certainly as he could muster. If he was mistaken he could pass off the comment as a joke, or simply leave - wasn't like this wolf smelled like any pack he was familiar with anyway.