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Current Objective:Scoping out what’s ahead
Form:Lupine
Mood: Cautious
It had been a long time since he had departed from the collective, all upon the basis of that foolish little mission to recover the female. At least, so it appeared on the surface. Like each snow bit was individual and different, each person had their own ideas, thoughts, reasoning’s, goals. To X’ies twas merely a case of getting what he wanted and keeping things open for him in the meantime.
His disappearance had likely sparked the all too untrue rumors of his untimely demise. But then these were necessary things that were required at the time, temporary rumors to be sparked and then quelled. As a man with his ear to the ground often he heard much, most of which was absolute fluff but in between that there were a few specks of gold dust that appeared among the slag. One of which was the rumor he investigated now, one of a name that sparked his curiosity. The name of the one who had spawned his excuse.
It had been some time since he had bothered to hear about the goings on within the collective and the name on his tongue, repeated in the cold would be something that tasted sweet. It was something that could not be ignored. At least not until he had travelled to the root of it, and found as in so many things. The truth garnered between the false and the fabulous. In the shadow of the mountain after many days travel he found himself once more compiling pieces of information in his mind. Questions yet unanswered, his parents. Where they still alive? Did they remain within the collective? Of his disappearance, was it denounced as death within the fog as he expected or was there more suspicion against him than he would have thought? Regardless, he had for now no intention of working any further into these questions until at least he had discovered the truth of just what was going on.
The female, her name linked to a clan, a collective. Was it the same? Did she return as a Shepard? Or was there more to it? So many questions, so much so that his mind often lay adrift, not paying attention to the fact he had stopped his stealthy approach and had merely started walking as would anyone not bothered by the idea of being noticed. “….The truth is a fickle thing”. He would repeat a simple mantra to himself. Words that had served him well all this time, oft the truth was malleable. Fluid, one person’s truth may not be another’s. But he was determined to find his own rendition of this.
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