In a trap, a trip I can't grip
The ground was familiar beneath his feet. The trails he'd walked, the places he had often looked upon laid out before him. But it was the air of the Ridge that hit his nose the hardest for it was both sweet and bitter. It lacked the scent of Skoll and Angier, and it made him fear what else had transpired in his absence. Was Angier alive? Where had Skoll gone now? If his stomach wasn't already knotted by this, there was still something familiar enough to make his throat tighten. Make him hesitate again, question if he could even live here again.
The rogue paused, taking it in, letting it hit him before he raised his voice. He sure as hell needed his composure, and his sense for what he was about to do. There was only two ways this could go, he became part of the Ridge again or he didn't.
At least he had told himself this over and over. Trying to be nonchalant. But, there was nothing like the picture of what life could have been to mentally fuck him up for awhile. When there was little he felt sure of like what was up, what was down, and this was hell.
Why he felt his appearance wouldn't be appreciated, he had to know. It was his new life policy. To be sure, without a doubt. Inhaling a long draw of air, he cast his muzzle upward in a howl that requested to speak with the patriarch. Then he did his best to display a slight submissive posture of neutrality and respect.