Hideaway Strath I need time to replace what I gave away

Hideaway Strath is either a death pit of it's own or a haven surrounded by unpleasant terrain. When @Leen first led him in this direction, Jean-Pierre hoped he was joking. The mountain they met on during that heavy storm was bad enough.

Down in the valley though? It's nice. Admittedly cozy in a way the beige wolfdog hadn't expected. Terrain around them ignored, he wouldn't have blamed the leaders for picking this plot of land.

Maybe if Jean-Pierre didn't like wandering around aimlessly, he would be in this predicament—debating back and forth whether it's worth taking the narrow exit out of here to see what other horrible landscape awaits them right outside the door.

In his circles of walking towards it and returning, the wolfdog finally says fuck it and curls grumpily under a tree.

Leen, ever the helpful character, was hunting. He certainly was a shit hunter but he could feed himself and keep off the caches so Towhee and Phox could sleep. In truth, he wasn't certain who refilled them but they should totally thank him. Totally. He carried his fowl through the trees, looking for somewhere to plop down at eat. He'd not bothered with a den yet, a tree base was good enough. 

All the way up until he saw a gloom-and-doom Jean-Pierre.
His coursed switched to him, wondering what was troubling him. He dropped the bird quickly one he was within speaking distance. "Wassup, mate? Polecat piss on yer meal or somethin'?"
He grinned in his ever so heartfelt way. He was such a charmer.