The massive form moved swiftly, hardly having stopped for rest within the past week or so. Ragged muzzle pressed to the ground, hoping for an inclination that the wolf that he was after had passed the way recently. He had heard rumours, spread throughout his ranks and had finally come to see for himself if they were true.
No doubt a few wolves who were from the south would have had a shock when they met him. For he was Whitefire...Abomination of the south-west, known murderer and warrior, who drove his pack to extremes with an iron paw.
He had left his son in charge while he had come here, to seek the traitor, the heir to his legacy who had shown weakness in the final moment and who had fled. Fled like a yearling when he had killed his brother for disobediance. //Berik...// His son...
Whitefire knew that there was a certain band in these parts. 'Rebels' they called themselves. Well, he would certainly see if they were any good. He sniffed contemptuously, his standards were high indeed, but his arrogance failed to notice how old he was getting, pushing himself to his utmost limits still.
Silently as any hunter, the large mottled form of Whitefire padded silently, looking around for any wolven whom he may converse with. It was strangely disconcerting, how alike he and his son looked. Yet Whitefire was slightly more rugged looking, looking his years and like a proper warrior. He was as large as his son, but did not have the bad orb, nor the overlarge pads. Muscles rippled beneath his pelt as he moved, keeping his nares low, trying to catch a scent.
//Revenge will be soon traitor...Even if these so-called warriors do not aid me. You shall pay for the dishonour you caused me...//