Krash, the massive, muscle-bound, scar covered war-wolf from far off lands, courageous and courteous once-commander of soldiers, stood alone in the frigid northlands of Alacritia. The madness of the pursuit of the cataclysm in the north had finally released this wolf, so back to his original quest he went, to find the new home that he belonged in. Throughout his journey in Alacritis he had heard tales of each of the six packs that had taken residence on this continent since the eruption, so therein lay six opportunities to find haven. Here he was at the first, the territory of the close-knit family pack, the warmhearts in the coldlands, Glaciem.
On several occasions before he had entered strangers' packlands, on "political" missions for his old pack that would be better called extortions, as well as a handfull of encounters on his new quest, so he knew the custom well enough, the wolfcall he should make. The veteranized wolf feared little, least of all social situations, and he had no reason to be anxious about this encounter, but the feeling was there, some curious disturbance telling him that he would regret forever ruining this meeting. Charging bears have had less an effect on his heart-rate.
Fear, though, had a way of becoming rage inside the brown beast as a consequence of the excruciating training he was made to undertake as a young soldier. That rage would surely destroy his chances here if it took him, so for the sake of his future, he would have to keep it and the apprehension away, ?And get this over with quickly.? he thought. He took his place atop a windy hill on the very rim of the territory, held his head high, filled his powerful lungs with frozen air, and called out with a powerful howl that carried the deep strength of his voice in it. Then he stood and waited, still and statuesque, ignoring the bone-chilling gusts and awaiting the representative of the Glaciem pack that he had summoned.
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