Porcupine Ridge black mousepad that needs a cleaning

The saying was true that a book could not be judged by its cover. From a distance, the ridge appeared almost inhospitable, its peaks jagged and jutting. But upon closer inspection, one would find the hollows and glens that existed between the ragged edges, the spring-fed lakes, and the dense coniferous forests. It was a prosperous area, one that the black wolf was surprised had not garnered the attention of a pack before him.

He shook his head when Terich commented on his aversion to mountains. He thought nothing of it; the black wolf was not inclined toward the open prairies, but he knew of wolves who would not live any other place. Everyone had a preference, born of their nature or of some past experience. It was his nature that preferred the rugged terrain, the high-up views, and the concealment of thick forests and rocky crags.

Tagg gave a slight nod of his head. "I'm glad to have you. Hopefully the ridge grow son you." He said with a soft chuckle. "I've invited a couple others. One, a hungry-looking yearling turned us down for some reason, but at least one female seemed interested." He hoped she would come by, but he would not hold his breath. "So," he hummed. "You and Capri..." he trailed off with a lift of his brows. The question was implied.