Sheepeater Cliff Wanderer

When he deemed it safe, Farstep had returned to the wall of mountains barring him from the west. He moved quickly and quietly, abandoning his previous relaxed pace in favour of something better demonstrating his urgency. He had met with two defensive wolves on this side of the mountains, and even if he lacked the finer cares of canines such as intellect and eloquence, he wasn't stupid enough to hang around. He beat a hasty retreat, one with jaws parted anxiously and ears swinging back and forth as if he expected to be followed.

The better part of the afternoon was spent climbing the mountainside and picking his way along the pass. When he emerged on the other side, he was met with a sprawling, verdant wilderness that should have taken his breath away. By all rights, the male should have been in awe of the lush land. Instead, he stretched out his legs, beginning with the front and ending with the back, yawned widely, and began to pick his way down the cliffs.

Teekon Wilds may have been beautiful to some wolves, but to Farstep it was just another same-old-same, as demonstrated by the way he paced down the mountain as if he'd done it a hundred times before. It was green, it was airy, and it was full of delicious prey just waiting to be caught. Still, despite finally being away from the wolves in the east, he still held his head level with his shoulders, moved his tail stiffly, and swivelled his ears, all signs that the vagabond was uncertain and wary.