Alpine Lake You always knew it, there's nothing to it: it's mineminemineminemine

[table width=72%][tr][td]

In an attempt to get his bearings on the Hinterlands— and perhaps gauge the comparative worth of the forest he had chosen to return to— Grievous took to the heights that had caught his eye from his long trek down the coast. He had sworn off climbing, but months without it had proven to be no less of a strain on his joints than walking sea level. Besides this, it was the scent of freshwater that drew him in, and then the stunning sight of the sleek waterfalls that enticed him to stay.

On the following day, in preparation to find a path down from the mountain and south of the area, he rounded the lake only to find himself distracted by the sight of a black streak against the vibrant flora of the lakeland. Strolling slowly closer, he found the imperfection to be a wolf, younger than a year, but clearly independent by the sight and scent of her. He didn't bother to check for Others; already knowing that they weren't there.

When he did at last come to a stop, it was several wolf-lengths away, his tail swishing back in forth contemplatively as if he had not yet decided how open or neutrally he wanted to treat her.

[/td][/tr][/table]