Phoenix Maplewood half-savage and hardy

backdated a little ways

The dark bear made his way into the wilds like a predator on the prowl. His dark eyes searched his surroundings with a keen interest before he pressed on. Stars had guided him, a radiant path against the deepest navy of backdrops, and he found that their company was welcome on such nights. The frigid wind still blew across the stretches of flat earth. He made way for the trees and tucked his head low to keep his ears safe from the bite of the frosty air. Bronte could scent other wolves. The shadowy figure inhaled deeply, savoring their rich scent before he drew his skull and chuffed into the darkness for any who might have found comfort in the seclusion of the wood as well.
 
The swarthy DeMonte did not pause for very long before he delved further into the maple trees. The sounds of small prey animals echoed from the darkest corners of the earth. They crashed into him and turned his ears atop his crown so that he would not be taken unawares. Painted with the night, Bronte remained well hidden. He did not try to conceal himself from others who would happen his way.