Wings folded neatly he carves his way through the sparse crowds that litter the banks of the River. As the spring grows older, the weather heats, and the citizens of Beqanna are drawn to her various watering hole. The River is usually a favorite, and even he is not immune to her charms.
 
His path direct, he draws near the bank dipping his whiskery muzzle down to dreg a few deep gulps before wading in deeper. The crisp water licks at his legs, washing away the clumps of mud and hair that winter had bathed him with. There is a groan, and a loud splash from around the bend that causes him and a few others to pick their heads up, ears pricking. While the rest are content to mind their own business, Uconn huffs, and trudges forward toward the noise, his large frame retreating from the water to cut across the land.
 
He picks up a jog, muscles churning smoothly beneath his hazy pelt, and closes the distance with ease. He draws to a halt just off the shore, hazel eyes searching for the source of the noise.