Camio was prone to wander, though today he tried to keep his wandering to a minimum. Hollowheart Keep was surely growing silent and he wanted to lurk around the pack for the next few days. Keep tabs on the members to see what exactly was going on. His mind kept falling back to think he had joined a weak, dying, disgusting pack of wolves. But of course he would keep these thoughts to himself for the time until he saw it fit to spill his thoughts upon the wolves he lived with or to the other wolves of the land of the Lore. Coming upon a hidden water source Camio allowed his nose to rimple at the sight of it. The molted male wasn't exactly a water wolf to say. He preferred his woods and mountains. Only time he didn't mind getting his coat wet was when it was raining down on him. Though when it came to swimming it would be rare to find Camio being in the water taking a dip. The only way it would happen would be in a life or death situation. Even then the male might find himself making it a tough call between touching the water or dying in whatever his death may have been. Figuring though that wasn't the case this particular day Camio sat down on the shoreline making sure to be just far enough away from the water were it wouldn't soak his paws but just close enough where it may lightly damp his toes. "Speech." |
in coffins and boxes, a museum of the dead