Flycatcher Downs Heaven knows that I'm born too late for these ghosts that I chase

When he left the Wilds, Ramsay was bone thin, haggard, and unable to settle his searching paws. His life had been mostly defined by wandering up until that point, and with no constants besides Euron, he had no reason to stay still. Cicero could have been that for him, but Cicero had died, so even Tindome, where he left his sons, was unable to keep him for longer than a handful of months. He returned to the Wilds fully grown, with the glossy pelt and padded musculature that spoke of good health, and a much better grasp on his own inclinations. The sun was high overhead as he padded out on the pebbly grassland, where the wind blew but disturbed nothing.

He breathed the valley air deeply, holding it in his lungs, then let it go. There was nothing on the agenda for the day, and no known packs nearby to sneak food away from. He was a little peckish and could do with a meal, but it wasn't urgent. His time with the other branch had taught him how to suppress hunger and exhaustion in order to continue pursuing a goal long after a less disciplined wolf had flagged. He had no reason to do that now, but a side effect was that it took a lot for him to feel his needs, including hunger. He could go a while longer.

"Where to?" he asked in a gravelly voice as he swung his squashed body around.