Duskfire Glacier nature, nurture, heaven, and home

Faded threads of scent tangled and scattered across the weather-worn paths of the glacial swath of land told a story of a pack that once lived upon these hills. His grizzled nose hung low, nostrils flared, as he took in the scene presented to him. The snow was melting away, revealing flattened grasses, and a collapsed den. He approached with purpose, pawing away the tufts of earth that had tumbled over the entrance, and poked his head in the hole he'd made. The trace indication of childbirth still remained, which was covered by a heady aroma of wolves, wolves, wolves. He smiled. 

This child of Skull could see the merit in the area, and with another glance to ascertain the mood of the overcast sky, he drove his claws into the loam and began to dig. Once upon a time there had been a family, and now there was nothing but ruined earth. But from this he could create a sanctuary for himself; where he could feed, hunt, and live while he waited for his sister. She would pass through here; there was no other route home. Summer was soon upon them, and with it fruitful times and plentiful prey. 

He could bide his time until the chill returned.