Broken Antler Fen rootbeer popsicle

Marcello's feet ached─his bones creaked, and hadn't felt this alive in many years. 

The sun above beamed out of a cloudless morning sky as he followed his nose down the sloping terrain to a natural bog. The humid, earthy smell of moss and natural decay was so pungent beneath the warmth of the sun that he nearly coughed from the sheer intensity of it. He'd been a mountain-dweller his entire life; this experience was far from foreign, but he could not recall off the top of his head a bog this large within twenty miles of Hurricane Ridge. 

He could smell the heady aroma of wolf marking in the air, but it wasn't until he came across an old, rotting log that it became apparent he was entirely too close to a claimed territory. Marcello threw his ears forward and leaned down to sniff at the urine; it wasn't older than a day at most, and came from a hale wolf. He couldn't tell, however, if the wolf was male, female, or how old. Just that it was a wolf, and this was their home.

A surge of something resembling anxiety raced down his spine but he didn't turn tail. There was a thread of curiosity tickling at the base of his jaw─what would possess a pack to live here? His eyes scanned the horizon, tail limp behind him, but head raised well above the reeds. He could see the spotty copses that made up the greater woodland, but it lacked the rich, dense forests that he was accustomed. 

"How weird." He muttered to himself as he turned away from the marker and back towards the trail.