Moonspear tŷ, nid cartref

Charon nods, and the golden wolf follows close behind as the leader heads up the slope, snowy form cutting through the trees. Llewellyn relishes the exercise, the cool mountain wind through his pelt. It is a beautiful day, and a gorgeous place to call home. How could he be anything but content, right now? More than content. . .happiness should course through his veins, keeping pace with the blood. [

But Charon was right. He needs to forget Mynydd and all that happened there, or at least push his old home to the back of his mind. Because for every landmark they pass, Llewellyn thinks of a comparable one by the sea. For everything Charon mentions about Moonspear, it brings up memories of the complexities of his kingdom. It will forever hold him back, if he continues to live with one paw in the past and one in the present.

He must find a way to move on--or he will suffer.

"How close is the nearest pack?" he asks, looking over at Charon, only puffing slightly as he tackled the steep incline. "Do we have any allies?" He wonders about the standing of Moonspear, and the politics of these lands. Is this as prestigious of a pack as he had initially thought? What is their fighting force comprised of? How full are their caches? Question after question rests on his tongue, but he waits patiently for Charon to answer his first two, and then he will decide where to go from there.