Sleepy Fox Hollow mental cabaret

Located in the center of a sierra is a quiet, open meadow. The place appears quaint and peaceful, nestled safely and hidden from anything outside of the mountains. The Hollow is lovely in the Spring, Summer, and Fall, a variety of deciduous trees dotting the lands and bringing color and life to the place; but in the Winter, the Hollow is nothing but the naked bones of the trees here that the leaves left behind, scraping eerily against one another as though desperate for warmth. Per its name, the territory is home to a number of red foxes.

Cyclone continued to wander. It seemed like her entire life was wandering and exploring and searching. And maybe that was all right. Maybe this was what she needed before she put down some (however temporary) roots. Spring would be upon the wilds soon, and she was eager to put in some work before then so she could have what she wanted. In the meantime, she brainstormed catchy names she might call her (future) little band of wolves. Naming themselves after the territory seemed short-sighted, because what if they moved? Places became uninhabitable for a variety of reasons, and Cyclone didn't want to go through the process of remembering a new name if they moved.

Besides, who had decided on the names of things? Some omnipotent presence? Yeah, probably. And what did they know? They were just a bunch of nerds pretending to be wolves on the internet. Too meta for you? Too bad.

It seemed like all the best pack names were an adjective followed by a noun, so Cyclone tried to think of ones that might work well together and capture the pack's essence. Whatever that meant...

As she pondered names, she waltzed through the barren trees, knowing that this was likely only a product of winter. With the mountains surrounding the forest, it was probably quite cozy year-round. Probably lush with life during the warmer months.