The Bracken Woods Weep for yourself, my man

♥ @Alarian

At times, he regretted having left his place of birth. The pack still thrived, each year bringing with it the births of new northerners, oftentimes belonging to separate generations. They were strong, sturdy, the winter survived and the springtime just over the horizon. These reasons, accompanied by the prompting of his mother and even his grandmother prior to her passing, are what drove him to leave his familial pack; the death of his grandmother was the final push he had needed, offered the opportunity to be the one to inform the great uncle he’d never met. And so he left the north behind him, traveling farther and farther south, the vague directions given to him playing over in his head constantly.

***

Arrluk shoved through the thorny underbrush of the woods, cursing under his breath each time he was pricked by a thorn. A scowl had formed just moments after entering the forest and refused to leave for as long as he remained there—which, as of right now, he could determine not when he might be freed of the prickly situation he’d gotten himself into. He was unfamiliar with his surroundings, the entirety of the wilds unknown to him, and he had neither friend nor scent to guide him. He was left to maneuver on his own, and he tried desperately to do so without tangling his fur in the underbrush—but it was difficult to avoid and he found himself stuck several times, leaving clumps of loose fur in his wake.