Blackfeather Woods Wanderings

The dark silver boy took to the bloodied borders often, frequently during the early hours of the morning, or well into the night, patrolling and scanning the horizon with his ice blue eyes. Quite like the winter themselves his orbs were, still shining even in the darkness after the sun had made its descent. Around they scanned, taking in all the details of the land he had come to know as his home - a strange home it may be, but a home nonetheless. Much better than his old place in Moonspear, though perhaps his dislike of that pack was simply born from those within it. He wondered briefly whether his parents, Dakarai and Olive, were still there. Well, for all he knew they could be dead. Maybe he should have questioned his sister about it while he had the chance. She'd know, right?

Oh well. His snow-covered grey paws led him around the edges of the Woods, until his sharpened gaze landed on a dark figure halted beneath a leaf-less tree. Raising a brow, he came to the realisation that he did not know this one - scent was not recognisable, and they did not smell exactly like the wolves who resided here. A new one, he supposed. Though still was he wary. A chuff was released from his muzzle, a misty cloud of air running from his nose.