Heron Lake Plateau punch drunk

To say that Ambrose was jealous of Niamh and everything she'd made of herself was an understatement, although he loved her very much and felt an equal measure of pride as well. She had escorted him to the pack boundary and then across it, all the while explaining the dynamics of the upper echelon. He had listened as she name-dropped his competition, but at the same time Ambrose had been thoroughly impressed by the look of the place. Hearing the name did not do it justice — Heron Lake Plateau, it wasn't an impressive name, but the plateau itself sprawled across the horizon and was replete with vegetation and creatures, so much so that he could spy the namesake birds flying overhead with their prehistoric silhouettes and feel somewhat enthralled.

But as he expected, something called Niamh away after a couple of hours. He watched her go, then began to plot. The biggest thing keeping him from winning his bet with Bruges was time, which he was running out of. He'd have to impress the higher-ups and earn himself a higher rank as quickly as possible, anything to get him started. As he suspected, getting in to the pack was the easy part.

Ambrose knew he had to acclimatise himself to this place, learn the layout, and be a useful member — he could kill all the birds with one stone, so to speak, by buckling in and getting straight to work and so he headed for the lake proper. All the while he was studying the scents and markings around the territory and trying to commit it to memory — and to be honest, he felt a little bad for doing it. It felt like he was spying. Soon enough he was at the lake's edge.

He drank some of the water with a few hasty licks, then lifted his head and looked around, eager to get into something.