Blackfeather Woods over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

Snow had come again to mantle the Wilds, dipping and curving over the contours of the land. He had hunted well that night, the last of many he had spent away from the wood. He paused only when he noted the fresh scents, understood, then, that they had returned. He ought to have expected the pale girl to be a precursor for the rest of them, ought to have know that they would not leave the wood for long, even if evicted by force.

He caught here the scent of his sister, and wondered briefly if @Astrid still led them. Surely not, for he had never doubted her incompetence (stemming, perhaps from sibling rivalry not even the raven was immune to) and he wondered briefly how the pack would regard a leader that stood at the helm of their exodus from the Wood. Here too was the scent of his father, however, the scents of his brothers were absent. Tipping back his muzzle, he called lowly for @Kove, the song reaching over the boughs and deep into the wood. Perhaps they would have noted his presence, perhaps the girl had spoken of him. He knew not how they would receive him, and yet he had words and fangs, and thus the thought was of little consequence.