ooc: sorry for the lack of a table. I'm not graphically inclined.
It felt good. It felt absolutely amazing, to know that he was part of something, something that was lively, something that was ... definable. His lithe, dark frame moved through the trees, his paws silent upon the jungle floor. What he would do to see above the canopy, to feel the breeze as it swept over the leaves. The birds cries resonated in his ears, and Iccarrus almost smiled. Oh, you silly fool, but the smile lingered upon his lips, a reminder that not every sullen, angry wolf needs to never smile, that occasionally there can be humour in life. His dark gray eyes glittered mischievously, but grew more or less concerned when the sound of a howl breached the natural melody of his surroundings. Nerves snaked through him. This would be it, the first real social gathering since he had arrived in Harbringer, the first real opportunity that he would screw up, no doubt. A puddle let him see himself, and he glanced in it long enough to determine that he was clean looking (as best as he could be) and that all of his fur was intact, and that he was still very much an attractive, virile representative of his kind.
The howl's origin was not far from where he had been exploring, so he quickly changed his pace, his lithe, slender limbs covering the distance quickly. While he was brawny, with muscles rippling beneath his pelt, and while each stride exuded strength, Iccarrus was also poised, elegant, graceful ---- and most importantly, because in a skirmish everyone needs it or at least wants it, he was agile. He heard voices, and before he realized it broke through the thick foliage to find himself face to ... well, many faces, with his pack members. The strength of their scent excited him, but his facade remained stoic. His ears came forward, and his body quickly moved into a confident, yet respectful, pose. His tail was not raised too high, nor was his head. He wasn't the submissive sort at all, so he stepped forward and very unkindly (because his voice is quite naturally gruff) grumbled, "Right on time, I hope..." But it was more of a mutter, and if anyone heard it, he'd be quite ashamed of himself. Where were his manners?
He could have spotted the Alpha, or leader, anywhere. It was obvious, immediately, who it was. Iccarrus had quietly assume duties, taking his role of Sentry quite seriously. So far, there hadn't been any issues to report, so he had not brought himself directly before the Alpha, himself. His muzzle dipped forward as a greeting, but he did not relinquish words from his lips. His dark eyes observed those that had already gathered. A good mixture, and none of them appeared as if they wanted to start trouble, or to create drama, so he sat down about four feet from Dawn, which he had no previous knowledge or experience of being around, and curled his tail about his haunches. Okay, so he was socially awkward, but he was handsome, his fur was immaculate, and because he had nothing to say, he waited.
He'd been summoned, so to speak, and because of his absolute need to adhere to rules, to follow policy and procedure, he had come. His gray eyes meticulously observed each individual, overtly scrutinizing, while he remained silent. The best part of his job? He had to familiarize himself with all members, in a manner that would bring him closer to them, but also that would allow him a sense of detachment. Each one was essential to the pack's well-being. Each member had a duty to perform, and his was to ensure safety to all those within Adega walls. To those that watched him from the outside, his expression was emotionless, hidden in the dark contours of his face, silent in his haunting, smoke-colored eyes. He wouldn't speak, unless spoken to; that wasn't a thought process of his, but rather a truth. Iccarrus rarely uttered words. To him, it was not necessary.