Witch's Marsh life is a game, where the player must appear ridiculous

Scimitar was once more away from his home – though it left him with a heavy heart. Recruiting was at the forefront of his mind, for it had been awhile since he had seen some of their pack mates. Morgana and Tryphon had seemingly disappeared – though he had not disincluded them yet. Still, much longer, and their presence within his home would be met with teeth and force. If one was going to disappear and reappear when convenient, they were not worth the pack’s resources, for they added nothing to them.
 
He found himself in a place that Swift would have likely loved, and his heart twisted at the thought. His nose drifted lower, his ears sliding back as he took in the myriad of scents. He was no healer, and so the bountiful herbs before him held only blind potential.
 
What did beckon him forward was the lingering scent of another – a scent he recognized only by landmark alone, and that he had stayed there for a night to rest his family. Saena’s offer had been gracious, and so he loped forward, hoping to seek out one of her wolves to at least see how their allies northward fared.