The Bracken Woods you got two black eyes from lovin' too hard

Heading south had seemed a good idea a week ago, when he departed. Now, picking his way through a dense jumble of bracken and thorned bushes, Brennan regretted everything. The male had not met with another in many weeks; the last several days, he had spent adrift in the woods. He had certainly downgraded. Only a short time ago, he had been the beta of a flourishing mountain pack. Would still be, had wanderlust not gripped him fiercely.
Life there was good, but not satisfying. Knowing the value of his skills and experience, he had resolved to search for greener pastures. Thus far, he had come up short. Brennan paused at the edge of a creek, lifting his nose to test the air. The scent of wolves— a pack— carried towards him on the breeze. The borders couldn't have been far. His curiosity was piqued immediately, but he bent first to drink from the creek. It had been a long journey, harsh on his own, and he did not know if the pack would be receptive. There was no point in rushing to possible rejection.