watch it 'till the light grows dim

The rot prince in all his glory, a storm cloud wrapped around his shoulders, appeared at the edge of the market. In his father's time, they'd come more than once. Something about trade, about learning how packs fit together, about bureaucracy that he no longer needed. All things behind him, as they should be. It's a place for trade, one of the few packs with somewhat open borders spread before him. A place filled with empty faces, as he scanned the small crowd that had gathered within it. They're all so clean and above board. Björn⁢ finds them unsettling, if not disgusting, in that way.

Dried blood crusting the dark fur beneath his eyes, looking ragged and unwashed, he winds his way through the market. There's more interest here, in the way it's settled in the saddle between two peaks. The real reason he's here, learning the landscape, exploring. Gathering the intelligence he can about the land. Learning the north, and tracing the place so that he may learn it like the back of his paws. Curiosity as he peers up at the peaks, closer than he thought they'd be. The market itself is more permanent than most structures he's seen, and that too, draws his attention. All of him is curious, even if he's ragged. Early afternoon, still enough time to explore, before the light fades from the sky. The boy has nothing but time.

"Björn"