Strength had diminished over recent months, and the muscles that once rippled beneath his shining red pelt now were soft with age. Pelt that had once been a vibrant red was flecked with gray strands, making him seem rather silver...instead of himself. Those orbs, so noble and honorable shone true to himself, though, life filling their very core. Kindness seemed to pour from them like silver tears, splashing in the soul of himself. They were of joy, though, for wasn't growing old supposed to be rewarding? One could see everything they had put into life in the beginning finally played out in the final act.
It was more difficult to move through the glade than it had used to be, his joints locking up as he leaped from bank to bank with cunning. Even in his age, he could run as fast as the youths and kill like there was no tomorrow in the face of danger. Still could he protect what was rightfully his by nature - his family. It was rather large, but he still believed he had the capacity to deal with the problems they faced with the rising evil in their lands.
Modet smelled a rat. Soul Render. For a long time, they had been enemies, ever since he had stolen his precious daughter Jaile from him. It was unfair, and that brute would pay in the final war for his bad deeds. The worst thing was, he was surely going to lose so many friends. Modet knew not if he was to survive the upcoming battle, but he knew it would prove to be difficult to actually make it out of this one. Bloodshed would be everywhere, and he didn't want to be one to die. It was a part of life though, and he would accept it. A true warrior died on the battlefield.
Suddenly he smelled a familiar scent. Was it....Clearwater? His eyes lit up like a puppy as he heard her calling out to Soul Render to get away. Hurridly, he went to her, smiling as he approached. "Hello, Clearwater," he said, bowing his skull to her politely as they acknowledged each other.