There was a set of mountains that lay behind Silvertip, his former home, that he rarely explored. It was strange saying that, they were right next to them the months that they lived there before moving to the Spine. He lingered at the base of these mountains, icy-blue eyes surveying the mountain.

He paused, eyes resting on a carcass rotting on the mountainside. The assassin climbed up the rocks, mouth watering as he caught the juicy scent of a recently dead mountain goat, a delicacy he rarely tasted. As he reached the decaying goat, his mouth opened to sink into the flesh, but he flinched as something hit his head. The dark wolf growled as he looked around for his attacker, only to see a gray blur rushing for his head. This time he jumped up at snapped at the gray bird, being rewarded with a few feathers in his mouth. He spat them out and crouched, ready to attack any of his assailants, if they tried to swipe at him again.