Lost Creek Hollow the holly bears the crown.

cry, my headphones gave up the ghost on me again and it's so difficult to not have earbuds in while writing...

When the overcast sky above him finally produced some wintry precipitation, he had made the move to guide himself back towards home. Though the slight hitch of his gait remained, he moved with much more ease than the week before. It made traversing some of the more winding courses of the woodland easier, though he had also tread into it for the illusion of cover it provided. The bare canopy above him did little to negate the dusting of snow, but there were also the pockets of needled timber that offered relief. It relieved more than just the passing of the wolf; the birds tucked away to the interior of the trees chirped and shuffled.

From there, it did not take much time at all to find where he had been housed, though needless to say that Harlyn had taken it upon herself to discover it; he would have much preferred to bed down where the snows did not pile too high, but the allure of warmth from another had long won him over. He spied her relatively easy against the pallor of the Hollow, tucked away near the den mouth that had curiously changed since his earlier departure. He gave pause to such a change, though his gaze lingered on more than just the yuletide trimmings. An ear turned back as he surveyed her, not entirely certain what had changed about her but nonetheless intuitive enough to lay his assumptions to rest.

With a hushed woof from between the underbrush as he pressed on to close in their distance, his greeting was simple; his tail waved merrily behind him, his head sinking low to reach out and nudge her fondly. He had not completely excepted to find her retired to their shared accommodations so soon, but it was a welcome sight all the same. Little doubt to him, she would soon be prodding and probing, tending after him and wounds he could not see, or reach; he would make his attempts to delay them all the same.