The clouds had ruled the sky that entire day, whether it was snowing or not. A solid layer of grey-stone hues shielded the sun away, and thus night crept on a little sooner than usual. So Fenrir was up and about a little earlier than was typical. Hed left his pack at the den, because of the nature of this mission he was undertaking. It was not an attack, and it was not a hunt. Instead, he was going spying, to investigate the peoples who lived in the little town that lay nearby. There were targets to choose.

So the fur-clad man swaggered down the road. Barefoot he moved, his toughened soles thankful for the slick, snow-moistened nature of the cobblestones. The chill winter air kicked little flurries up from where they had settled in embankments amidst the shops, and Fenrir huddled closer into his thick quilt, pulling a portion of the gathered neckline up to partially cover his shaggy mane. Clouds of steam rushed from his nostrils and from between his filed teeth as his breath rattled back and forth in his throat.

He had been ignoring the cold, but now that his feet had gone numb as well as his ears the werewolf deemed it time to explore the people who inhabited the innards of one of their buildings. Certainly this option was not extraordinarily appealing, and his space-loving instincts howled against it. But the human mind was in control currently, and protested that to freeze further would not be a healthy move. So, with a lurch he halted, turned to the door nearest, and gained entry; the barrier was closed behind him.

Fenrir absorbed the setting of the tavern-like establishment. His eyes happily adjusted to the dim lighting, pupils expanding, and his nose took taste of the smoke and alcohol, as well as the basic mood-scents of the crowd. They were all relaxed to some wary extent, almost every single being reeking of distrust, suspicion, and deceit. A grin sidled cunningly onto his grey features as Fenrir identified what hed found: a whole nest of the evils of humanity, all in this close-packed room. Hed definitely have to mark the place and come back later to suitably deal with them. But for now, he would meld into the crowd.

With his furs pulled close and his arms held stiffly, the large man stalked across the room toward one of the only empty stools remaining. As he neared it, he studied the back of the human that perched upon its neighbor; and frowned in thought. Curly hair like a forest shrub, tailored robes, scent of dominance, and then his personal smellit was all oddly similar to the wizard Rikket had described. The hefty man settled himself onto the stool with a wave of the musk that belonged to the furs of his garment, leaning muscled forearms upon the counter. A sidelong glance gave him a view of his neighbors face, and those details clinched it.

Kenneth MacMillian, is it? He asked suddenly, bushy brows furrowed in suspicion. Nothing in the way of self-introduction, or greeting really, was given; he simply waited for the wizards response.