Ankyra Sound One wing will never fly

Taking place closer to the Dragoncrest Cliffs than Ankyra Sound. Tagging @Caiaphas

What's one to do when one is a widower?

It was a question that Tweed had found himself mulling over in his head ever since his mate's untimely and premature death at the height of winter. Some had said time had a way in healing all wounds, emotional or otherwise -- Tweed, however, would unabashedly call bullshit. Some time had passed, yet, the wounds left behind still felt like a twisting knife. When he closed his eyes, he still saw her face as clear as day. Her features did not fade from memory. Tweed could not decided wether this was a blessing or a curse.  

His pack, Wendigo Falls, had been tightly familial: Tweed's role at its helm had been his inheritance as first born. A homebody at heart, Tweed had lived there for his entire life, opting only to leave when duly necessary. Of course, he had all he needed at home. There was prey to be found... and there he found love. Perhaps that is why he felt the need to abandon his post without a word of warning. The sentimental attachment he held with the territory became far too much to bear in his loss. 

And so, he traveled.

His paws carried him to the southwest. With no intention of destination, Hugo's paws took the lead and he put himself on autopilot. He stopped his forward progression only to stop and sleep -- sometimes to eat. Wether it was his grief or the lack of food (or a combination of both) that had cause him to lose weight, Hugo didn't care: his mind was set on one simple goal -- moving forward, both in a metaphorical and physical sense.

For the first time in weeks, Hugo stopped for a reason other than biological need. Facing the edge of a cliff, Tweed felt as if he had reached the end of the world (and in his mind, he had). The sea sprawled out in infinite expanse before him. He dropped to his haunches and sighed, perching himself on the cliff face facing outward. What now?