Northstar Vale In the end you pretend 'cause it's so much easier

It seemed like as soon as he had joined, individuals slowly faded off the edges until there were none left. That wasn't fair, Peace thought. Certainly if they had gone through the trouble of inviting him in to the pack, they should stick around so he could learn from them. Alas, no. But at least he got a few good meals out of it.

Now, he had wandered into Northstar Vale, not that he knew the name of it. All he knew was that he'd managed to weave his way through whatever passes he had found and now... A valley. Yippee. No pack here. How far would he have to go to find a new pack where he might be able to prove that he was worthy? Would there even be one? Ever? Was he going to become some vulture-picked skeleton on some dramatic rocky outcropping?

The pup's brow was sculpted into a particularly familiar expression for him: a scowl, annoyed at the world and whatever fates had caused it to be the way it was. Did the world not want him to become what he was always destined to be? Why? He sighed, a long, drawn out event as he walked aimlessly under the canopy.

When Muirrin had first arrived in these lands, she had thought of claiming this Vale as her own rather than the mountain. It seemed to have everything a pack of wolves could want for; meadows, forests, streams. She knew that if she were to settle here, the pack she hoped to form would flourish and thrive. It is surrounded by walls on all sides, the woman eventually concluded, it is a honeypot; a trap. In the stories her grandfather told, Muirrin had learned of such things. Great wars waged, the strongest of armies destroyed and fallen beneath foe in choosing poor ground on which to make their stand.

Not that she was planning a war; but enemies, she knew, would one day come. Tuatha Dé would be prepared.

Still, the reason she had decided not to take the Vale was the very reason it would make excellent hunting grounds. With nowhere to run, the herds would run themselves into the tearing jaws of she and her wolves. Muirrin would know this place, as she knew her mountain. And so she navigated the idyllic valley, making notes and formulating plans. The time was growing ripe; it would soon be upon her.

As she followed a hidden path through a forest, a flash of white roused her from her thoughts. Golden eyes narrowed, she altered her course in the direction it had gone. Fey? She tasted the air. No, not fey—as ever, the slippery forms she saw in the park were always corporeal. Before long, the strange wolf was visible through the trees... a young male puppy. Muirrin first tensed, scanning the forest for signs of anyone other. After a few moments passed, and the child still remained alone, she approached.

Her voice gentle, her voice nonthreatening, she queried, "Are you alone?"

There was only so much he could do outside of just moping along as he walked. He didn't have the direction nor the skills to organize himself more than that. Thankfully, his paws weren't yet tired, so he could likely continue on for a while longer today before having to find somewhere to rest. That would likely take as much luck as arriving here in the first place.

Huh? Wait. Was there someone following? Footsteps. He rotated as he walked, trying to turn to face who was coming, slowing to a crawl as he walked backwards, watching. His ears were tilted forward, alert, tensely posed as he finally came to a halt. Then the female appeared. Well. At least she didn't seem to be vicious? Either way, he wasn't going to just believe she was some benevolent soul so easy.

What did she want? Peace listened to her, then replied, stiffly, "I guess." Apparently he wasn't the type to go bawling into the nearest adult, looking for refuge. Once bitten, twice shy, after all.