A herd of hillside ram have been grazing the outskirts of Eastborn’s hillsides since this morning, and the general took notice. Close notice — as in he couldn’t exactly take his eyes off of them ever since he’d begun his patrol. Admittedly, the sight reminded Āzon of just how hungry he’d been growing and how hunting sounded like a pretty good idea right about now, and just as he finished his rounds, he’d made that idea a reality.

It took approximately forty-five minutes.

To herd, isolate, take down, and finally kill a female big horn. He couldn’t believe he managed to successfully take one down himself, but who was he to question luck? Not only did Azon have his lunch, but he also had extra to share with the rest of Eastborne! There was only one problem, and he’d noticed it while he dragged the carcass halfway over Eastborne’s grounds:

One of those rams had got him good.

An angry male who wouldn’t go down without a fight, that was his first (clearly failed) target. Its horns rammed into his jaw, his ribs, and even managed to knock the pale brute over a couple times when he’d forgotten to dodge. Ignis, like the idiot he was, fought him back — returning the favor ramming into him a few times as well, until it eventually gave into and sped away from him. The general was thankful that his second attempt put up less of a fight — but now he was a walking result of his first.

Beat the fuck up.

As he made it to the walls of the castle, he hissed as a sharp pain seared his side. Dropping the hefty kill that he dragged by the neck with his jaws. They hurt from carrying her here, and so did the rest of his body. Finally, he’d plop down against the grass, heaving in exhaustion as he held his side. His back pressed against the side of the castle walls, and his tongue running over the split in his lips.

That….was the most fun he’d had in a while. Azonial thought to himself with an amused huff.

—and once he was no longer bruised to shit, he’d have to do it again some day…..

A rising sun’s soft glow falls through the cracks of the castle's stone walls, and the tundrarian rouses from his admittedly uncomfortable slumber once and for all. Heavy forelimbs stretch forward, claws gripping the stone flooring as his jaws stretch wide to release a yawn crawling out from his chest.

As Azon shifts forward to rise, he winces — a crick in his neck. Supposedly what he deserved for finding a pile of hay and grass to sleep on last night, though that was the least of his concern right now.

This was new, for sure.

Ever since Northfall, at least, he hadn’t been a part of a proper group. The general was no longer alone like before — he had company. A place to call his own, bodies to protect, and a job to fulfill. In this case, he served beneath a ruling matriarch as this domain’s knight — a title which was probably far too formal for someone such as him. Yet it was a job description that fit him perfectly.

So, as he’d done all his life, he’d get the job done.

Today’s mission was to trail and mark their newly claimed territory — something Ignis was accustomed to and good at. It was certainly a start, and possibly even a way to meet some of the wolves who called this castle their home as well. An early morning patrol never hurt anyone after all.

Though it seems as though someone had beaten him to the outside already.

Heavy footfall fell to a halt as his nose flared, picking up the scent of the darkly furred man who stood outside the entrance of the castle. Toned and muscled like he, and smelling of the rest of the wolves who roamed this land. Intrigued, his footfalls continue as he offers a short -chuff- to announce his presence with a smile, jutting his chin towards the skyline to call attention towards it.

Ain’t she a beauty this time of day? Th’sky, I mean…

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An unfamiliar sun has once again risen on a new day, its rays brilliant and thick as they fan from the horizon in great spokes of light. Between them, the clouds from before have all but dispersed, leaving behind a few stragglers still dark with whispers of rain, and yet their passage is a peaceful one, slow and meandering across the wide canvas of heaven.

Summer's flowers are just beginning to open in the muted brightness, to welcome the coming light into their waiting embrace. The last droplets of the previous night's rain tremble from their petals as Kizashi passes through them, impassive and with little regard for their beauty or scent.

His limp has grown more evident as of late, as though he has, for the time being, prioritized mobility over looking particularly imposing.

While the day beckons in all of its splendor, his attention is on other matters, as it so often is; he is not the type to sit and admire clouds nor plants, to wonder at their uses or the purpose they might serve. He has others to do that for him, after all.

No, his gaze instead rests with the lake that stretches, like a pane of unmarred glass, through the otherwise empty and serene landscape. The early morning has drawn pockets of mist from its surface, glittering in the sunlight, while dragonflies mill about and a gathering of frogs croak in the hopes of attracting love.

He feels filthy after his excursion to the castle—white underbelly flecked with mud, with other debris settled further into his coat—and he cannot imagine a better way to hide the evidence of his scouting than by simply washing it away.

It is a thing he would rather be done with before Himari happens to find him, if only because those clever, observant eyes have a habit of noticing more than he cares to explain. He has no desire to tell her where he has been or why, nor to endure whatever questions and scrutiny might follow, and so he angles toward the water at an unhurried pace.

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Takashi was aware of the uncertainties that lingered ahead, the road paved with unknown obstacles that would surely make themselves known with each passing day. Nothing was the same as it was before, and yet, his people were here, and perhaps, that was enough.

He guided Kikuhime toward where he had last left both Himari and Kizashi, his gait unhurried as his tail swayed naturally between his legs. His gaze held a quiet determination, an unspoken confidence, and a mind already moving through future scenarios he would have to settle.

Even if the rest of the Shogunate was not here, perhaps…perhaps the Kagetsu Clan could rise again; the four of them leading the way for any others that may stumble across their path.

But what of the other clans? Of Kikuhime’s husband? Of the others they had left behind in the wake of their death? What then would Takashi do should their presence become known to him? For them to wake again in a world foreign to them all?

Such questions left a sour taste on his tongue, unanswered and bitter despite the way he wished to swallow them down and forget about it all.

—Did it matter?

Did any of it?

He turned his gaze toward Kikuhime, checking once to ensure she still walked beside him. It would be a lie to say that a part of him still could not wrap his mind around her presence beside him, as if it were some cruel trick of the mind leading him along, only to be ripped from him the moment he let his guard down.

Are you alright? He murmured as they crested over a hill, one he knew would bring him back toward what remained of his clan.

It must be odd, he thought, unnerving for her to go from woman to wolf in a blink of an eye. To be surrounded by many dutiful hands, chattering and caring voices one moment, to only wake in a world alone.

The oncoming breeze—sharp with the scent of blossoms and smoke—tore his attention from Kikuhime and toward the hill they now descended, toward the silhouettes that waited for him—for them. It was only then that Takashi allowed himself an exhale of hidden relief, to know for certain that their existence did not linger solely in his mind, but was in fact as real as the very body he now inhabited.

He offered a ‘boof’ into the air, quick to alert them of their presence and his inevitable return.

Come, he motioned with his muzzle toward the two figures below as his own pace picked up in speed.