King Elk Forest it is silver and silent; it is silver and cold

The ex-soldier was leaving his mark at the borders now, refreshing them dutifully while keeping an eye out for prey. It was a satisfying distraction from his (usual) inner turmoil. He found it comforting in some ways to have a safe place to sleep, to have duties to keep him busy-- in other ways it was alarming to feel so confined.
He had never been much of a wanderer before; no, he didn't yearn to wander.

Nathaniel wanted to run-- forever. He was all too aware that he couldn't, which he supposed was why he was here. Here, Tindómë, the pack with the strange name and the strange, tiny leader and one too many of his kin for comfort. Rather ironic, really, that it was his kin anchoring him here ultimately. Nat stopped suddenly, sitting down on his route along the borders. It occurred to him, then, that the only connections he had in this world anymore were those of blood; he had no emotional bonds to show, for all he had suffered and tried and suffered again.