Fenrisulfr || Lone Wolf || M: Open

His paws hurt from his constant travel, callous from there never ending use. He walked for many days and nights from his homelands, the Northern Wilderlands to the South... Wherever he was now. Fenrir huffed to himself. Yes, his suspicions about the warmer climate allowing for a prey surplus to occur was correct, he didn't expect the famine to follow him down from the frozen moores.

"Foolish", he muttered to himself. The slightest miscalculation, but its implications were grand. How could he have overlooked such things? The rusted colored wolf's lip curled in irritation. He seemed to attract misfortunes wherever he stood upon, like fate wished to spit in his face. A distant caw of a crow caught his attention, drawing him from his musing.

"Danger lurks in the greenland, Red Wolf".

Fenrir rolled his eyes at the name. All corvids while intelligent in their own ways, never seemed to pick up names. They were brash, and seemed to only view the world through observation. Perfect for scouting, horrid for conversation. Still, the black birds offered him information about the world around him in exchange for pieces of his kills. Looking towards the direction of the crow, he let out a low bark in understanding.

"I am well aware that we weren't the only ones to travel South, the northern winds are vicious as the beasts who dwell in them, Little Bird".

Another caw sounded out in understanding and the forest around the wolf grew silent once more. A cold breeze swept through the trees, presenting the scent of pine and tree sap. Intoxicating. The scent was something Fenrir wasn't very familiar with, as the North's growing season was only a few months till the long night of winter came. All that he was truly familiar was ice, snow, blood, and the existential fear of not seeing tomorrow. The winds told of many things, thanks to the scents they carried from miles around. Fenrir was well aware of the others who followed his lead of heading South. Mass migrations occurred within the ranks of predators and prey, with rumors of truces being held between the groups till they reached the South. These obviously weren't rumors with Fenir's alliance with the corvids.

The scent of a great bear was wafting from the west. The faint sent of water and fish mixed in. There was a creek nearby, and said bear was helding himself to the local trout if he was to make any assumptions.

Nodding to himself he came to the decision to travel in that direction for the fish, but he'd make berth for the bear. He respected their power, and no way would he attempt to combat one, and so he once again began to travel.