Inside him, the facet of Thoval that had been scorned as Ragehowl screamed. The sting of defeat had yet to leave him, but he had Felyx's word on revenge when the opportunity presented itself. The dark-pelted brute had his nights numbered.
Thoval stretched long and serpentine as he slithered in the shadow of the Mountain. Across the rocks, he sniffed about. The whites of his brows pressed against one another. What he was searching for, he couldn't be sure, but he knew it was time to press himself back into the fold. Reassimilate. Reorient. Reassess. The Whisperer, as he interpreted the being from Paeryl's lips, offered what Thoval could only dream of.
A smirk played on the rogue's swarthy features as he found a flat-topped rock to perch on. It was a good distance from the ground, but not too high up. If anything, it offered a nice scope of the forest below.