Lone Star Mountain fitbit charger

The black wolf was bitter. He was a benign soul, capable of great compassion and tolerance, and of immense patience. He felt he had been generous and kind, that he had lived and let lived; but the contest at his borders, the disregard he was showed and the mockery of the fair request made, was to him a spit in the face. He and his wolves had suffered in proving their point and securing their home, and he was now wholly intolerant to any more who thought they might reside near to him. His dominant nature had intensified, and with it came more readiness to be aggressive. This all lead his paws across his borders.

He passed through formerly claimed lands, confirming for himself they were still gone. Their tracks were no longer crisp in the snow, their marks stale and fading. He could not help but snort at his former neighbors; but then what did he expect of a yearling alpha and those foolish enough to follow one. It caused him to question his own hierarchy, and the way he allowed it to be built. Of course, these days, the black wolf questioned much about his previous logic and manner of approaching things. Perhaps it had belonged where he had been born; and perhaps it did not belong where he was now.

Determined to ensure no other would even think of settling nearby, he moved past the stormy mount to another one equally as barren and uninviting except to the sheep that roamed there.