Fox's Glade i'm sippin' on my syrup, movin' slow, but i'm still rushin

He felt settled. He had established a sort of routine at home: checking on the caches to discard the inedible and stash fresh fish and game, refreshing scent markers on the borders, and socializing with packmates. It felt almost strange to him, to have this pattern in which he lived his life after having spent so much time without any kind of pattern at all. He was content in this, but nevertheless felt the need to wander. Fortunately, he was an outrider by trade and so he could cater to these desires while still tending to his duties. He made it his mission that morning to explore some of areas surrounding the hollow.

He made note of the few herbs his companion had showed him as he passed them, and kept a log of the different prey scents as he encountered them. If ever the hollow could not provide, knowing where else to look would be important. While he was cataloging these points of interest, he crossed the trail of an unfamiliar female. The pack was almost full, but there was still room for two more, and so he followed her.

Her trail led into a shadowy glade ripe with the scent of fox, but he was unconcerned with those skittish creatures and kept on the other wolf's trail. He found her standing still. Unaware that she was staring at glowing eyes or that she was tensed and defensive, he bounded toward her without pause, chirping an enthusiastic "hello!" as he came up behind her.