Lake Rodney they'll never win you back

Redshank had strayed from the coast after finding nothing but meagre scraps and feral wolves there, and instead travelled further inland. The rotten carcass he had found a few days ago had sustained him for a while more, at least, but the pangs of hunger grew more painful with each day. He had begun eyeing off wolf tracks, wondering where they would lead and if he should take the chance. Even his roaming tended towards pack-heavy areas, but some deep, deep part within the boy was still pledged to Rannoch, even though he wanted the ocean-eyed man dead.

Redshank knew, however, that he would not last the winter without the strength of a pack behind him.

He came down from the mountains upon spying a nearby lake from their peaks, hoping there was even the slightest chance of a herd making a stop there. Though the snows had driven most of the prey away, so the hope was mostly in vain. A vaguely familiar scent caught his interest, however, and Redshank's focus shifted onto that, eventually coming across a figure that breathed a small amount of life back into him. "Tit?" he said in an almost whisper, before he gave a bark to the other boy who seemed just as lost as he. Despite his weary legs' protest, Redshank threw the remainder of his energy into a full out sprint towards his former packmate, aiming to grapple and pin him to the ground.