Blackfeather Woods never seem to find the time

Oops, forgot to add, he is 100% trespassing so PP away!

The slow, creeping chill of winter was already becoming more of a bite than a sting; each passing day grew a little more colder, a little more darker. It seeped deep into Redshank's bones; he had neither the meat nor the coat to shield his self from the dropping temperatures. Yet even when the herds migrated south and the bears began to hibernate, the Cairn remained. He had no ties here, but he knew that going beyond the familiarity the Wilds - especially on the brink of winter - was a fool's errand.

However, the increasing lack of prey (or rather, their carcasses Redshank scavenged from) was beginning to take its toll. He had, once more, a rangy, skulking aspect to his form. The hungry glint in his eyes had intensified, becoming almost desperate, and the hold on his own wits had frayed. He had become not unlike a coyote - an opportunist.

The smell of rot and decay lured him to the fringes of a deep, dark forest. The scent of wolf hung thick, but it did little to dissuade the boy from temptation. He stalled for a second, licking his lips, before he entered the woods at a predatory, unwavering pace, following the scent of long-dead prey.