Whitebark Stream lied der nacht

Mahler had not been the only wolf to notice the lack of an alpha-scent on the borders of Morningside. There was another opportunist there too; a pale bachelor wolf without a personal tie to speak of— both willing and able to carve a name for himself wherever in these lands he could. Endeavor did not aspire so much to lead, but he was quickly finding out that life without a purpose— wandering for the sake of wandering— wasn't exactly in his wheelhouse.

He trotted along the maplewood's dusk-lit edge, hunting for any excuse to invade, but before any progress could be made, he came across another wolf: a male, with such a faded packscent Endeavor wondered if he was imagining it. He sized up the ash-fiend, knowing right away that he would avoid trouble here if he could help it; for a fight with this wolf meant at minimum a decent injury. He lifted his tail and wagged, starting a steady advance with only minimal pauses to account for a less-than-desirable reception.