Sequoia Coast cantaloupe

yes. he stayed within his Dream.

the woman, who he had continued to call dancing fox until he thought of her as the same, she was round with children and close to her time. he could not think of leaving her, and so he lay upon that bluff until he could travel again and move with more than a hobbling gait.

he would repay her. 

scars covered one side of his face, pink and healing, ridged in their tangled masses. he stumbled in one direction, following the sea and traveling inland only when boundaries decreed it.

eventually he found a place of spreading ice, where unbeknownst to him, a man and his sons had once traveled for a ritual. the glaciers roamed and cracked, and when he let out his breath, it hung in the air.

the taste of Wolf's blood filled his mouth, and the dream glossed his eyes with an unnatural obsidian glint.

here he would camp, at least until the children of dancing fox were delivered. then, and only then, could he be free to choose his path. until then, wolf dreamer belonged to the notion of protecting her through these vulnerable times.