Perhaps not everything in the world required a coherent reason behind it.

There wasn’t a coherent reason for the Tanglers to dwell in their ghoul-ridden turf any longer. There wasn’t a coherent reason behind the hound joining these misfits in the first place. And, all the more so than the rest, there was no coherent reason behind throwing yourself into this lot like the stranger here, especially in this day and age. The swamp dwellers were a dying breed, it’s former glory lost to disappearances, deaths, a lack of joiners, and captures by the Pitt, the group ever-so-deserving of a good backhand to its hypothetical cheek. Days of boredom had even been going by unusually fast, inflicting a realization upon Leroy’s simple mind - he was watching his remaining days on this fucked up planet whir past, and sat idly while doing so, the thought of deserting the swamp not even crossing his mind until this very moment. Out there, beyond the gloomy trees, was action, greater things; then again, everything seemed so much greater when you existed in such an isolated area. The recent changes imposed by Morgan were nice, although they had no effect on a concept the mongrel has moulded in the fabrics of his mind, a concept suggesting that is was high time for a territory change. Face it, calling a swamp your home was a challenge in itself, that challenge only amplified once you brought these fearsome spectres into account. Perhaps a nice valley, or even a comfy mountain; yes, those sounded delightfully delightful indeed.

"What’s bringing you here?" the unusually tall canine inquired as his steps followed those of Ren, the chilly blood in his veins cannonading his figure with a series of furious shiver. ”Ya look like ya can handle yerself, I like that,” Leroy narrated to himself, scanning the panther’s frame for signs of practical use, ”’m Leroy, but you’ll have t’tell us your name if ya wanna go further- and your business, I’d guess.”