Lost Creek Hollow i hear the hungry ghosts calling out in the night

A slightly sour look crossed Lagon's face when a light rain had begun to fall making his patrol ...wet. He hadn't been overly social the past couple of weeks, which he felt bad about but he had times where he tended to get so wrapped up in his duties — filling the caches and patrolling — that he kind of forgot that he wasn't making an effort to be social. He spoke with Root and Jazz (I assumed she bunks with Root and Lagon now) but was otherwise sucked into his pack duties as if it were a black hole. In hindsight, he'd rather take rain over snow any given day and though it soured his mood a bit it was only when he stepped in a muddy puddle, splashing it up his forelegs and over his belly did Lagon entirely give up. He glimpsed down at the dripping, muddy fur shaking his legs but it clung to the ebony tendrils of his fur nevertheless.

Maybe he could clean himself up and find some place to dry figuring that neither of his roommates would particularly enjoy him dragging mud all through the den. As it was, he didn't want to risk getting any mud on his precious bone and stone collection (which still wasn't that impressive but he'd had other things on his mind than his weird obsession). Mordecai's call had risen, however, summoning the wolves of Lost Creek Hollow to him and Lagon's course automatically altered his long legs taking him towards where the alpha male's call had risen from.

He was not the first to arrive he saw, sparing a moment to let his mahogany red eyes study the unknown female that had beat him there before his eyes went to Mordecai. Lagon submitted before he shuffled off to the right side of the small gathering place, plopping down on his muddy haunches as he waited for others to gather and for the meeting to start.