Whitebark Stream every hurricane gets its name from a girl like this

Rarely did Reek ever leave the confines of his borders nowadays. His wanderer's spirit had up and died with Saena and Scarlett's horrible injuries. There was far too much to worry about inside the territory; the influx of new members and the pressure of keeping Scarlett alive, alongside the basic stresses of running a pack filled Reek with worry. It gripped him tightly, more than it had ever before.  His drooping eyelids told a familiar story. One of exaustion and brokenness.

He found it easy to nap, but proper sleep was hard to come by.  Over-exertion had begun to take it's heavy toll, but Reek refused to give in to his body and mind's pleading and instead soldiered on by following a single trail of deer tracks in the snow.  A piss-poor hunter by his own admittance, Reek was ill equipped to bag a deer on his own, but perhaps the trail would lead him to a herd to which he could alert the rest of the pack for later.  

The trail led him north, past the borderline and toward the Whitebark Stream, where it abruptly ended at it's fridged banks.  "Fuck," he whispered after seeing the tracks disappear into the water, unaware of an unfamiliar wolf within earshot. Finding where the trail resumed could take a while and Reek found frustration in this set back.