The Bracken Woods there is no other word for spirit

"Hmm," he mused, and with a few coy steps he parted from Rionach's side, rounded a spindly tree and peered at her from around the other side of it. Her words rang true and any wolf worth their skin would be wise to follow such advice. To be a lone wolf anywhere was to be more likely dead than alive, though. Her answer didn't sate his curiosity, but even Prophet could tell when he was being deflected and he didn't deign to ask more. If ever they should cross paths again—and he sincerely doubted that they would in a world so wide as this—perhaps then he would inquire further.

She asked after his reasons and he grinned a lazy wolf grin. "Adventure," he breathed mysteriously, then tacked on, "to see the world, of course. What other reason to leave the comforts of home and family?" Except, as she said, danger. Danger was a good reason. But the tundra and the arctic beyond, though occasionally a haunt of man, were more dangerous for the sizeable bears and temperamental walruses that frequented it, and for the constant threat of starvation, all things he was accustomed to. His had been the largest pack by a single body. Hunting rights had been theirs even in the overlapping zones, but that didn't mean he hadn't come upon hard times.

Still, it was hard to think of even that as dangerous when his body was designed for it. No, Prophet had not left for danger nor in search of fame or fortune or a family or whatever other reason wolves dispersed from their packs. He had left to experience life, and that was all.