Blacktail Deer Plateau the oncoming storm

He left behind the crossing rivers and went further north; the idea was to follow the river until it terminated and then, perhaps, head east again so that he could complete the circuit around the mountain range. That way he could kill two birds with one stone: check out the region as the traveler had instructed of him, and perhaps return to the valley (although he had grown to dislike it) so that he could make some decisions. Perhaps the warrior would reunite with Phoenix, or Merrit, and convince them both to abandon their sub-par existence. He was hopeful, but knew it was naive.

So, yes, he was going north. The mountains were black smudges on the horizon at the best of times, impressive at the right angle, but Tulimaq was more concerned with the river and what was immediately around him. Eventually he was so far north that the air was thick with saline; it reminded him of home, and he felt a pang of regret for having left his branch of Tartok for the Wilds. Certainly he could find something that compared to his more feral brethren — and if not, he would be left to his own devices when winter fully consumed them. It was not the worst thought but it was not Tulimaq's goal to become a leader - he was here to earn a name, not a title. Not land. Nothing to root him here for good.

He was furious with his thoughts, but forced himself to calm down and ignore many of the plots that rose in his imagination. He needed to relax, but to do that he needed to find someone of a similar mind to himself - someone to fight, someone to challenge. It was fortunate, then, that the beast would come upon a hillside (south of the plateau, near a ridge) which smelled strongly of many wolves. The layered scent that denoted a pack - good. He did not breach the territory's fringe but he came close, testing the response of the pack that lived just beyond.

They'd be here soon if they were keeping proper guard, and that meant he could finally let off some steam - test their guard, have some fun.