It was early in the morning when he awoke, a chill in the air making him shiver. The sun was blocked out by storm clouds overhead, their looming threat of more snowfall neither exciting nor angering him; whilst the blanket of white gave him ample opportunity to blend in with his surroundings, he felt there to be enough currently that he need not worry—beyond the forest, anyways. The woodland seemed to be protected by the evergreens that made it up, their branches having allowed for little snow to reach the ground beneath them. He’d chosen to rest there for this very reason, knowing that it would help him maintain his warmth, similar to how the walls of his valley cut down on the force of the wind—ah, his valley. Not long had passed since he’d loosed a howl to those dwelling within the walls, telling them of his plan for a short journey. And whilst the trek had turned into something longer than what was originally planned, he was still well within the timeframe that he had set for himself. Before long, he would be back home with his followers—and Arthur, of course. Can never forget Arthur.

For now, he stretched out his muscles and shook his coat free of however many pine needles had taken up residence there. Immediately after, he was heading south through the forest, deciding to give the place a good once over before setting his course for home.

There was little to see within the forest. The scent of deer lingered all around, suggesting the habitation of a local herd, but that wasn’t enough to interest him; he was currently alone and unable to take one down because of that, plus there was a herd within his valley. Despite these things, he continued forward through the trees, the wind working against him. By the time he picked up on the scent of another wolf, she had already entered his line of sight, bringing him to a full stop. Although he knew the woods were uninhabited by a pack—there weren’t any scent markings—he remained alert, watching the other for a moment before he continued walking.

The closer he got, the more familiar her scent became, piquing his interest. He didn’t recognise her, they had never before met, but the various smells that intermingled with her own stood out; he’d met someone from her pack before but, with some distance between them still, he couldn’t get a good enough whiff to determine which pack. Without stopping, he called out, “Hey,” trying to keep her from leaving just long enough for him to figure out where she was from.

The closer he got, the slower he went, stopping just short of walking right into her. Again, his nostrils flared as he drew in the scents around them, though her origins remained unknown; it was familiar, the name of her pack on the tip of his tongue, but it wasn’t enough. Yet, there was something there—a face, followed by a name: Drogon. The scents were the same, confirming that they belonged to the same pack, which he still couldn’t recall the name of—which was fine, he could just ask for it again.

“Where are you from?” he asked without pause. He nearly mentioned something about Drogon, too, but thought better of it. If the younger male had since been cast out of the pack, he didn’t want to align himself with a potential enemy to the girl whilst so far from his own home; whilst confident that he could take her own with ease, he still considered himself to be at a disadvantage.