Roland counted himself lucky that he was a light sleeper. There had been an attack the night before while he was sleeping in his camp by a trio of rogue coyote loners. They must have thought the lithe-looking wolf would be an easy target, but he had made short work of the three with his tried and trusted spear; then dragging their corpses to the edge of his campsite.
Now it was early morning and he hadn't slept since he fought off the marauders, but wasn't phased much. Those three weren't the first he'd killed, and he knew deep down they wouldn't be his last. He sat by his dying campfire, re-honing the edge of his iron-tipped spear with a whetstone, as he watched the sun rise over the remnants of a human built road which was now being reclaimed by the earth.
He looked down at the haft of his polearm, inspecting it carefully. He had done an alright job of sharpening it, but it would probably soon need to be serviced by a blacksmith before too long. With that, he slid his whetstone back into his leather backpack and stood up, his eyes caught the form of another walking up the ruined highway.
“Damn...” He thought, hunkering down as he readied his spear. “Another marauder.”
The young wolf gripped his spear tightly and made his way through the tall grass lowly and slowly, making sure he made as little noise as possible as he approached this new stranger. When Roland was only a few meters away from this new white-furred dog hybrid he laid prone in the grass, carefully watching him.
He didn't carry himself like a sell-sword or fighter, and he lacked that hardness in his stance that those whom had taken lives had about themselves. He wasn't a bandit or slaver, from his guess, but he had been wrong in the past... But he also looked like the first remotely friendly luperci he encountered since he left his village.
The young wolf figured he'd go out on a limb, so to speak and introduce himself. He slowly slid his spear back into it's slot on his pack; then stood up.
“Hail, traveler.” He said, smiling a bit as he slowly waded out of the chest-high grass to the cracked and worn tarmac of the road.
Word Count :: 392
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