Lost Creek Hollow Never hold back your step for a moment

Deep in winter throes, it seemed sure the day would pass him by. The finer points of Imbolc were not lost on him but je chose to busy himself in other ways, ever putting off craft and interest both. There had been the reorganization of what remained of Hyacinth's stock, the meager remains of herbs and other plant matter shifted and stored in a manner that worked best for him. He had been gentle with bitter, frail leaves; the task had been long, longer than he had wanted. There had been too much time for introspection, too much time to allow himself to be absorbed in the unchangeable past.

It was a summons that drew him from the cool depths of her den; he greeted the fresh air and snow with a spark of ease, and began to make his way through the hollow. His small frame afforded him a more direct route to nowhere in particular, and granted him the opportunity to note an unfamiliar face. Someone new, or at least a face he had not been well acquainted with, which at that point was still the majority of the pack.

His entrance was quiet, rounded to the front of the wolf. His examination of him was shrewd; he did not seem in need of aid, which left the obvious question to settle in his gaze—why?