The boy returned with nothing but pride on his back. How long had it been since Saltwinter had vanished, since Peregrine had been brutally murdered, since his Mother, his Father and his brother died not so mysterious deaths involving cannibalism? Stoic — now Jackrabbit — did not care. From his depart from the Teekon did a band of loners find him, contemplate using his skin as a rug, and proceed to take him into their conclave where he would learn over the course of a few weeks exactly what humility was, which he would then proceed to forget upon his escape. Despite all that had occurred within the Teekon Wilds, and how he seemed to (literally) curse every pack he went to, with a band of strangers on his (literal) heels, a place where he knew he could at least find allies that would maybe be willing to take him back under their wing. It was only a few short weeks until the boy would, by technicality, become a man and be put to better use than a thrall like he had so been subjected to among the Wildlings. Oh yes, the boy had learned his place alright, but entry unto the place he had self-proclaimly called his kingdom shed any sign that the boy had learned respect while he had been away. The Teekon was his home, and now that he had returned, someone was bound to take pity to his sob story of a life, he found as he had so commonly experienced, and give him a place in which to hide from Them no matter his true distaste for the bore and annoyance that was Pack Life.

Stalking haughtily straight through pack lands, the boy sought trouble, however, none seemed to follow as he profusely rubbed his scent on all that he could find as he passed the assumed borders. If he could simply shout, I'm here, come kick my ass! He would. However, to carry out his act, he could not simply call attention to himself like that. It had to be done correctly. Glancing around the surrounding area, he delved deeper into a territory he knew very well was claimed, pissing on everything every five steps. Perhaps this time he would be a confused, directionally uncalibrated orphan with Spontanteous Bowl Disorder. That'll work. 

Perhaps trespassing wasn't exactly a good idea, rather, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Little had he known about the wolves that rested in the place he now found himself plummeted, other than he had witnessed more than once loner's passing through the forest like he as he came and went, assuming the wolves inside were either daft or waaaay too friendly. Apparently the latter was simply an improbable guess as a not-so-friendly snarl rose up behind him. Fully prepared to wiggle himself out of the situation he had landed himself in, drawing the conclusion that the wolves he had fleetingly seen enter the territory must have been doing something other than he — something right — or simply, these wolves were very, very picky on who they let enter their territory. However, as he turned to meet the gaze of the next wolf that would end up pitiing him after a few words of his unfortunate backstory, his face no sooner fell.

“Oh hel — Saena?” He managed to gasp in (actual) horror before his head his the floor, tripping over his own shock, the woman’s lunge and his general awkward long legs. Perhaps if he had know that this was her pack, he never would have dared to enter. Saena, as he had encountered was a very, rather scary woman to anger and even to say a few words in her direction that could be taken the wrong way was a death sentence. “Wait!” He yelped as a jabbing pain in his foreleg arose from where she had hit. Jackrabbit could not afford to be injured over winter; it wasn’t exactly his fault that she just happened to live exactly where he was trying to play his act. “Hold on dammit, i’msorry!” The kid screeched from underneath the other, scrambling to pick himself but clearly failing humorously at it. Saena would kill him, he knew, if he stuck around longer than he was welcome.

It had become very clear, very fast that he had to get the hell outta compton. While he did not mind so much for the scrapes and bruises on the way, he very much valued his head. In the mere moments that he had got to understand Saena, he realised well enough that she would not let him depart freely, nor would she let him leave unscathed. If he was to live at full capacity, his only chance to do so existed in that moment, and so fleetingly. From underneath the hoard of teeth and claw, he clambered up and broke from the crowd with as much grace as an elephant. Upon finding his footing, he broke at a run. Pain in his shoulder from the fall and the pungent sting of multiple cuts and scrapes that would morph into scars slowed him down, but he pushed harder. Jackrabbit would live to torment another day, unfortunately, and he managed to muster a grin as he passed the assumed borderlines; a trail of angry wolves not at all far behind him.