Sun Mote Copse wandering through broken shadows

He thinks about the range east of his position, tall and imposing. Some of the dips in the rock formations looked scalable but he wasn't about to test it. These lands were considerably unknown to him, having been retold through his grandparents. Even then, those tales were inadequate tidbits of a much bigger picture. Where lies the spire his grandmother spoke of?  The spine his grandfather regaled him with?

An enthusiastic bark draws him from his thoughts. What? Natjuk turns with a confused expression. Spotting the golden streak running betwixt the timber, he prickles at the wolf's impetus. He can tell - even from a distance - that he is not the wolf she's looking for. Surely not. Watching the drop in her mood with a level stare, he bade the fur to mellow over his back. No point in looking like a peeved porcupine.

She draws closer, clearly dispirited. Her words confirm what he suspected. Natjuk's ears twitch at the announcement. So, he had a doppelganger? How curious. He tilts his crown just so, as if to ask "who?"