Aldkal strolled peacefully down an old hunting path in the forest, picking his sharp teeth with his index claw. The sun shot down through rare openings in the leaves, spotting the ground with a pleasant contrast to the damp cool soil. His toes sunk into the damp ground and he groaned with displeasure, as even a mighty warriors feet get soar after miles of walking. So on that urge he sat down. Aldkal pondered close locations to where he was as his shifted his tail out of the way as he got comfortable on a mossy rock, laying a wooden spear tipped with obsidian down by his feet. He lost track of his thoughts as he stared down at his own spear, mesmerized. There was a time that the black stone was always red with fresh blood of outsiders, not it is dry and a mere ornament on a stick. Is there no more challenge?