Silvertip Mountain I will personally stab you in the eye with a foreign object

mild PP whoever wants to get bumped into. :P

Moonbrook trudged diligently somewhere behind the two leaders, Jhala and her husband, Reek. Sheltered beneath the large she-wolf was her two offspring, Tapat and Astik. The snow was not blinding but it was still so very cold. She longed for the warmth of the sun but it was hidden behind a thick veil of featureless clouds. The spunky she-wolf was hardly discouraged by their circumstances; their being the operative word. She belonged with them. This little ragtag band wanted her here, and she was made whole for it. Somewhere beside her lingered Dagfinn. Or was it Laurel? She could hardly tell for the snow, and her nose was not yet keyed in to the individual scents that made up the refugees. Someday she would know them more by name and color; she hoped that day would come soon. 

Reek called back to them, and she looked up to see the same storm that rolled and groaned in the distance. They didn't linger to consider their options, and Moonbrook followed dutifully, her gaze drifting down to the tracks left by those in the lead. She made a game of placing her prints in the same holes, and didn't realize they'd reached their destination until the light faded and she collided nose first with someone's flank. "Sorry." she murmured sheepishly.

She cupped her ears at the collected pack, and smiled. Despite the cold, the storm, and their homelessness, she was happy. Happiest she'd been in months. Moonbrook skipped over to where Jhala was attempting to push Reek into the center of the dogpile and flopped over near the pair. She thumped her tail and whined to Dagfinn and the rest to join them in the Inaugural Cuddle Puddle Session of... whatever they called themselves.