Sorry it's shortish. :o
The morning sun was warm, not yet at it’s highest peak in the sky, the world around him not yet at it’s highest temperature. It was still early enough that the dew that coated the grasses in sticky, sweet droplets had not yet dissipated. Kasimir preferred to do his heavy traveling in the early mornings, or late evenings, when the summer days were not heavy with humidity, or so hot. Having been born in the far North he was used to the cool summer’s and colder winters. Like majority of creatures, Mother Nature had seen fit to grace him with the convenient ability to adapt. Though he was not crazy about the scorching heats of the summer in Relic Lore, or what he had known of them so far, having only been in the lands for a few days, at most, he had already adapted his habits to fit the more logical times of day. Besides, prey was more abundant in his “favored” times, as well, seemingly not all that fond of dying of heat exhaustion, such as himself. Bright, turquoise eyes surveyed the lands around him as he paused, having caught a strong, yet undeniable scent of pack borders a few yards from where he currently stood. This was not the only pack he had scented since he first arrived, but it was the first that the nagging insisting voice inside his mind demanded he approach and, at the very least, speak to in regards to potentially joining. Summer would not last forever, for winter was always coming. Though he could survive adequately enough to keep himself alive as a loner, he did not exactly fancy the persistent loneliness that plagued his days and nights.
It was with thoughtfulness in each step that brought him closer, until he remained a respectful distance away from their scent markers, dominant and fresh, he noted, that he stopped. Living in his birth pack for as long as he had, Kasimir, son of a Guardian and Hunter, was nothing special and had not been invited so readily to patrols or acceptance of new pack members; this, likely, put Kasimir at a disadvantage and at a loss for knowledge of what would be expected of him, apart from showing proper submission which was simply, common sense. So many questions swam around his mind, would they speak the native tongue of the North? Or would he have to fumble and stutter his way through his English, while fluent, was more or less, rusty. The Northerners spoke their native tongue around each other, only speaking the ‘common’ language around company, which was why it was a required learning staple of the children. Though the “Vikings” were not overly diplomatic wolves, they all played the part at some point or another in their lives, and communication was not only an art but a necessity. A key, so to speak. Soft sigh was given, before he tipped his head back, muzzle rising to the sky as he let out a soft call, speaking of his presence and intentions of potential interest in joining, before it ended, short and sweet, and he waited, patiently for someone, leader or otherwise, to approach.
even my memories cannot drown me