The Sentry

The sunlight filtering through the delicate canopy of birch leaves created a dappled mosaic across the forest floor as the young Morningstar trotted through the birch woods. His cyan eyes flicked between the white trunks, scanning for any signs of disturbances. The woods were eerily quiet, save for the occassional rustle of a bird hopping between branches or the distant murmur of the river that fed the dam.

Oath paused beside a particularly large birch tree, its bark peeling in paper-thin layers. He pressed his nose to the ground, inhaling deeply. The faint scent of unfamiliar wolves lingered, mingled with the earth aroma of decaying leaves. His nostrils flared as he rose to his full height, his horns catching the light and reflecting it in sharp glints.

The easternmost edge of the dam had always felt wilder, less trodden. Here, The Hallows' territory seemed to hum with an almost tangible tension, a line he respected but patrolled diligently during their time occupying the dam. His ears twitched, golden earrings making soft clinks as he caught the faintest snap of a twig in the distance.