looking back sucks (joining tortuga)

Hot breath billowed from the man's black jowls. His hard gait tireless and smooth among that familiar ground; propelling him towards the end of patrol. Tortuga had little traffic. Perhaps no traffic. And it was no surprise to him given the methods of which he had obtained the pack. Yet the man was patient and his patrols were no less disheartened. A cry in the distance would reward the man's wait and his gait would turn in the stranger's direction.



An immaculate pelt of white would break the vertical pattern of redwood trunks that otherwise retained the territory in a perpetual state of black and grey. His trot would break a couple strides from the stranger though his reflective gaze would breech any distance between them. The stranger was young but this did not reflect his worth and the man's crown would fall in a manor of greeting, jaws parting in speech once his head was risen again. Deteste. Master of Tortuga. What do you seek? He would speak. The straightforward inquiry billowing about his jowls in the form of white smoke.