Bearclaw Valley i'm never finished answering to the dead

Bearclaw Valley intrigued him. Enveloped by impenetrable walls, the lush territory within seemed secure - a tiny world of its own, tucked away in the safety of its small mountain range. Circling around it, Talion found it to have only one entrance, which was tempting in its security and terrifying all the same. In the event of a flood or fire, a wolf could be easily trapped within its confines.

He noted yet another flaw: a pack, right on its outskirts. Giving their territory a wide berth, the young Roux-Abrhen made to avoid the wolves there entirely as he continued in his exploration of what could potentially become his home for the Winter. He made his way gingerly through the rocky mouth of the valley, careful of the uneven ground, though paused abruptly in his tracks at a sound just ahead. A voice, distinctly wolf, hollered joyfully and the thunder that followed was enough to cause Talion's heart to rise and take residence in his throat.

Someone had roused a stampede, and as the sterling yearling saw the herd of deer veer toward the territory's only opening - toward him - Talion promptly tucked himself away behind a sharp-sided boulder. As expected, the herbivores moved around him, some over him, too startled to even acknowledge his existence.

They vanished into the glade at his back, and Talion peered over a dark shoulder at their alabaster tails to exhale his relief. The boy gathered himself then, shaking debris from his coat, and flickered a raven lobe in the direction of an enraged voice.

At once, he made his way swiftly in the direction the voice had come from, and happened across an infuriated male as he rounded on a young female. "What happened!?" he huffed, gathering his breath as he eased to stop beside the duo, pulse still racing from avoiding being trampled. The dark brute was clearly pissed off, leading Talion to assume that the fault lay with the young wolfess who now faced the offended stranger's fangs.