The old woman, the leader of the Khalif had spoken of the strength of Inferni. They were a thing not be underestimated, she'd spoken of them with an almost mystic fervor. He had not questioned his Grandmother and her words, though he often knew the things she said were not directed to him. Misery spoke to ghosts and they all knew it and accepted it, she had been born of the darkness and now shone as bright as the virgin snow, she was not to be questioned. His Mother was different though, Wicca de le Poer, born of Ahren and Matinee, she questioned the old woman. He supposed it was Wicca's fault that he had left the mountain but he did not hold it against her. He wanted to see the world.

Dante de le Poer was not a physically impressive male. His body was mostly muscle, lean and taut, his arms obviously strong, but he was a scrap of a male, only six feet in height. His pale body was wiry, betraying his coyote heritage - as did his overly large ears and sharp muzzle. Bright, golden-green eyes flickered about the darkness studying the land as he kept his distance, one hand holding the halter of Ghost, his blue roan stallion. It had been a gift from his father, one he was most thankful for.

The leather straps that held his quiver and bow slipped and one hand deftly reached up to readjust them on his shoulder as he walked, his bright eyes staring into the lands of Inferni. Part of him was tempted to call out, to see if anyone would approach him but the old woman had warned him not to be too bold in their presence. His body may have been coyote like - and he had the blood in him - but he was at risk if he was mistaken to be a pure wolf. The male made no sound as he walked the edges of the border, keeping a respectful distance as he hoped to encounter one of the beasts within.