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~ Swift paws transported a young male wolf as his figure rose upon a small slope; vivid yellow eyes looked forward, seeming to pierce everything in their path with their vigilant gaze as the rogue checked the premises. His forefeet's clear talons scalped the loom beneath them in an anxious fashion as he stood on his white paws mudded to a greenish hue. At least, the foundations of his forelegs were cream-colored, just as his underbelly and muzzle, though the rest of his fine pelt revealed clearly to be an ebony black, lit to radiance by the (moonlight). The brute's posture displayed his wayward pride: a high head in the air, tail reaching to the sky, as he stood square on his large, sturdy paws, feeling confidant and sure of himself; though his stance did not retire, he shifted his head, twitching his black nose, to take in the scents around him. The wind's tongue only understood by one's sense of smell quickly told him other wolves were about, and this caused him to be somewhat weary. He wasn't as heavy as most wolves, though he was not emaciated either, and stood the average size for a male with a lithe build designed for agility; he owned a vigorous chest, powerful legs, a nimble body, and a long, abounding tail: this came in handy, being an outcast as he was, and though he could not feast on large fresh kill such as deer, a rabbit proved to be an easy meal for him, and therefore he remained healthy. The young wolf, close to his third year, turned his head to look behind him, his optics sparkling as they longed for a companion to arise from the brush. Gently, the soft padding of another wolf was heard, the sound of a peaceful, waned, and stiff stride. Easefully, the wolf , another male, emerged to the side of the young rogue, one who's coloring was that of a faded black roaned by white. His yellow eyes, matching that of his companion's in luminosity, were sunken in, tired, and weak. The legs he stood upon were weathered, and his talons had grown long due to lack of use. His body, appearing as if it had been nimble and healthy years ago, was loose-skinned and bony, as his tail was low and far too old to wag with joy any longer. This wolf lived the life of a rogue by choice. His entire being had been such, and that time had been quite fair to him, though he was an aged brute now with death close to him as he stood a bit over seven summers. He looked to the young male beside him with wisdom in his exhausted optics and a docile look to accompany his seasoned face. The youth returned a gaze to him, with eyes willing to listen, knowing that this father of his had much to share with him, though now was not the time to share it. The young son turned his attention back to the horizon before lifting his maw to the heavens and uproaring a melodious howl, one to claim his presence in the terrain. The father only watched his grown pup perform this deed and awaited their journey's continuance while he sat on his haunches, trying to remove pressure from his unsound right leg which possessed a scar he had received long ago, though the damage of it only began to prove itself recently. The young wolf looked ahead of him, than boldly trotted upon the lands, closing in on his destination as he was quickly followed by his much slower father. The old brute, Phoenix, insisted on a long-strided walk instead of having to lift his legs more than the event called for. Though the young male, Fable, decided otherwise, and continued his fast-paced gait as he ventured toward the horizon. ~