Bearclaw Valley they served you venison and morphine

The valley reminds him of Broken Boulder, in a twisted way. He can tell the place had been inhabited once, not very long ago, and it stirs up a familiar ache in his chest. Maybe it's masochism that makes him linger within the snow-dusted valley, shivering fiercely as he trails along the outskirts of the territory — or maybe he just needs to feel like he's not the only fuck-up in the world who can't keep a pack together. This place holds no sign of death — but it reeks of abandonment, of had-beens and could-have-beens. It makes him miss home.
A soft bark draws him from his thoughts. He recognizes it immediately, but it takes him a moment to react; truth be told, he hasn't put much thought into his next meeting with Outlander. There's still chaos swirling within him, a confusing writhing mass of feeling that he can't seem to break through. Put plainly, he's still a mess, and he doesn't know how to handle this. But he turns to greet him with a soft chuff anyway, unwilling to close the distance between them just yet. There's a weariness to his features, but his expression is soft; he doesn't blame Outlander for their current mess. He blames himself.