Neverwinter Forest how junior got his head put out

The sun's edging creep into the sky served as little more than a constant reminder that Whimbrel hated the entire summer season. It was hot, and his thick coat wasn't remotely made for such a climate — it often struck him that it would've been far more clever of him to roam in a more Northern direction, but he never seemed to do so. Plus, it was bright, and bright light bounced off of his bright fur into his light eyes and forced him to be, during the daytime, almost constantly squinting or averting his gaze so as not to inflict unnecessary pain upon himself.

In defense, Whim had taken to spending much of his time in forests, and more often than not, the vale nestled between the mountains, not terribly far off; with the peaks stretching toward the sky on all sides, the sun barely reached through at all, and so there he had a constant nighttime, cool and crisp and dim. He was still new to the area, though, and since he could smell a rather high n umber of wolves out and about, it was worth exploring some. Whim had never really found a place that felt like home — he couldn't have explained it more specifically than that, and not only because he was about as limber with words as your average lumberjack was with tightrope walking — but the thought was often in the back of his mind, that one day he'd set foot in a forest or on a beach or in a cave and feel comfortable and at ease. Or perhaps he would meet other wolves who had the same impact — it didn't matter. He needed to continue to have a look around.

Not long after he'd struck out he smelled a familiar scent, and followed his nose until he found his rather distant relation settling down to a fresh catch. Stopping nearby, Whim dipped his head in greeting but didn't say anything more — a simple hello would've sufficed, but he didn't see the need to say something that was implied with a simple head bob.