Dragoncrest Cliffs "I'll take this dance."

It was time for Ephraim to stop feeling sorry for himself. Yes, he'd done a fine job of bungling as a warrior, and yes, he'd attacked one of his own packmates in all the confusion. But Easy had forgiven him and Antumbra had yet to throw him from her protection, so the Skayona had to assume by now that there was no harm done. He'd spent enough days staring out at the sea, trying to read signs in the heavens and finding nothing there. He'd left the territory, seeking some comfort in wandering the unknown, and found nothing there either. It was time to get off his ass and resume his duties now that his injuries were healing.

He didn't love patrolling the borders alone at the best of times, but it was a necessary evil, especially in these tense days. The air felt charged most of the time and apart from brief connections with packmates, the territory was uncomfortably silent. It made Ephraim's throat tighten with anxiety. The thought of whether things would ever improve crossed his mind; it was so loaded that he swallowed thickly and tried to focus on something else. His eyes drifted upward to the heavy flakes falling above and he sought some tranquility in watching them, but the worry was ever-present. Nothing ever cleared it from his mind.

He still had his eyes turned to the sky when he stumbled—almost literally, for he was only about five feet away—upon Natjuk lying across a flat stone. The place smelled heavily marked already, making it moot for him to continue his patrol in this direction, but Ephraim came to a stop anyway to awkwardly observe the unfamiliar earthy man lying there. He hated being alone in these turbulent times. So, although Natjuk looked like he didn't want to be bothered, the little coywolf wet his dry lips and ventured a soft, Hei.