Deepwood Weald We're up all night playing video games

A chilly fog drifted ominously between the thin trunks, but Lucas hardly felt the cold at all. Thanks to his father, he had a thick, nigh impenetrable winter pelt and fluffy paws that kept out even the coolest weather the Wilds could produce. It was about the only thing Xan had ever done for his son but it was greatly appreciated at the onset of winter. It meant he could travel indefinitely, scratching the wanderlust itch that had taken hold of his bones since his time with the troupe, without ever suffering the elements.

He was always on the lookout for potential pack mates to send to Govinda, but his main objective in the misty weald was hunting practice. Owing to his size, Lucas was never going to be a stellar hunter. The least he could do for Parivaar was make an effort to get better so that he could provide something, even if nine of ten hunts ended in failure for him. One in ten was better than not even trying.

His mind wasn't with him as he padded heavily through the woods, though. His eyes were unfocused as he weaved between the trees, thinking of his siblings and wondering if they had found success as hunters. Wyatt surely had; his dark-haired brother had always been a slinking sort whose build would lend well to hunting. Lucas imagined that Piper was at least an all right hunter as well with her slimmer figure. He wondered what they were doing now, how they had grown, what ranks they held in Bearclaw Valley. There was a light twinge of homesickness to follow that thought, free spirit or not.