The seed was planted in the Cavern dweller's territory. Now, it had to be planted here.
War stood silent, His eerie form shrouded by the dank, stinking mists that were seeping from the ground below and the skies above. He spat up a laugh and bile churned in his stomach, threatened to spill past his lips and splatter to the ground. Some semblance of an internal struggle that was quickly quelled by the fiend who had claimed the River king's body as a vessel. A swaying step was taken by the beast before he silently crossed the border, his scent screaming "Whisper Caverns". Oh, he was such a clever thing! A handsome, clever, destructive thing!
He rolled around, almost childishly, covering His body in dirt and dust. Whilst they were distracted with their little gift from the "Ridge wolves", no doubt confused and concerned, War busied himself by claiming their scent on His body. A distraction and also part of the plan! Even Death would be impressed by such an impressive display of intelligence, the sneering little bastard. Heaving himself up from the ground, he let out a wheezing snicker before he scuttled off. It was time for the great giver of gifts to visit his second target.
Onward he swaggered, brushing the stink of the Cavern rats on the trees that dotted the territory. The power of the Ridge wolves far outweighed the meagre little slithers of Ash Hervok and his followers--He could smell it in the foul air. He smeared himself across the bark of whatever flora seemed most heavily scented, dragged his filthy, charcoal claws across bark, mangling the skin of the trees all around. He had already done so today. He was simply busying himself with the task of making it more noticeable, and insulting.
Once satisfied, the nasty brute made sure to finalise the gift. A cache, all by its lonesome, with a tasty looking meal within. Digging the corpse up, his eyes lighting up with a sneer, War quickly set about devouring the fat hare, bones and all crushed between his powerful jaws. Somewhere inside, Maksim was fighting the insanity that had wrapped itself around his mind. But it was a losing battle and each time he was knocked back. Licking his lips free of blood and hair (and hare), War twisted away and, with a final scoff, trotted off. He would leave the wolves of Willow Ridge to find this themselves--no need to call on such diligently watched borders.