Honeyed Pasture Take every chance you dare

The need for a pack in winter was paramount to the silent wanderer. This was unfamiliar territory - far from the geyser filled valleys and mountains he was born in, far from the vast expanse of golden plains that divided this land and his home. This was a land that was bordered by the sea, the ocean, that was farther north than he had ever been. He was still not sure what brought him to this colder realm when he could have easily ventured south for the winter, following the birds to that mythical warm desert he had learned about. But something called to him here that he could not deny. What it was, he was still not sure.

The silent wanderer shivered as a cold, salt-tinged wind raked through his fur. He fluffed up his pelt as much as he could in defiance, but his husky heritage did not offer itself to the thickness of his pelt. Unbowed, he pressed forward at a quick pace, hoping to find some sort of shelter before the sun disappeared and he was left in that cruel frozen darkness known as night in winter.

There was bound to be something here - a den, some fallen log. He was slightly disappointed to only find one thing worthy of note in this cold wasteland - another wolf. A wolf here meant that there was more nearby - it always did, for wolves rarely travelled alone for long. He did not know much about these Teekon wolves, but he did know that they had several packs who thrived by the sea. Perhaps this wolf belonged to one of them. He was curious how wolves may hunt with undrinkable water marking most of their western border. He chuffed softly, wondering if the wolf could even hear through the rushing wind.