Bearclaw Valley when i was young, i'd feed on it

Phocion nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly with her sentiment. "You don't want to get on a bear's bad side," he mused. "Quite frankly, I've never met a bear with a good side." Quite frankly, I've never met a bear at all, Phocion thought wryly, but where was the fun in telling her that? Might as well keep up the repartee while he could.

"Where do you come from, originally?" he asked, leaving behind the conversation of bears. This young woman in front of him was far more interesting. Packs in general intrigued him. Wolves from all walks of life, from all sorts of terrain, coming together to create a family group. The tribe had wolves as different as could be, yet it functioned well. . .because they were bonded by land and by allegiance, a bond that could sometimes be stronger than blood.

He was happy he had come here; his thoughts of Silvertip, once filled with such regret, had receded, as he had vowed to give this pack his all for as long as he stayed here--or as long as they stayed together. Grayday had alluded to Silvertip disbanding soon after his departure, and while they had reemerged as Easthollow. . .it wasn't quite the same, now. Not without Krypton, without Steady.

Bearclaw Valley was a chance, of sorts, to make amends. If he couldn't apologize to Steady until the grave, he could at least live a loyal life on earth, while he still had the opportunity. While he still breathed, though his friend did not.