Thunder Dome Here our dreams aren't made, they're won

Becoming part of something larger than himself did little to quell Farstep's wanderlust. While he now had a place to return to so long as he upheld the laws of the wild and laws of the pack, he would never be a homebody. He'd left his birth pack for the wonder of the world and that was hardly going to change now. He would simply wander the lands nearer to Taggarik's claim, ensuring that he returned at least every few days to refresh his own scent within the territory so they wouldn't turn teeth upon him for abandonment.

Today he scouted along the ridge and went even further to the northeast. The relatively gentle slope of Taggarik's ridge soon became steep and it was taxing on his legs to hoist himself upward. He was no more than an eighth of the way up the mountain when he had to pause, panting, to let his burning legs rest. Now that he was here, several hundred feet higher than the tallest point of Taggarik's ridge, he could see the valley below in all its splendor. He admired the view momentarily, then canted his head to gaze up the mountain.

There was surely something at the top, but above it all hung ominous, dark clouds. It wasn't summer and the clapping storms of warm months weren't common in the snow in his experience, but the way the sky roiled up higher reminded him of the storms. The hair on his back prickled with the memory of metal on the air and blinding lights, and he immediately thought better of going any higher. On this shelf of rock would he remain until he'd caught his breath, and then his exploration would take him elsewhere, away from the danger.