The Tangle idiot wind, blowing every time you move your mouth

he was old enough to know that getting close to a pack's claim was a fool's errand. elysium was an anomaly; other wolves took their borders much more seriously. so he stuck to the southeastern edge of this thicket, enamored by the way it all seemed to weave together in a calamitous mass of dead branches and thorns. it was a beautiful, ugly mess.

cortez was lithe (and foolhardy) enough to slip through it, sniffing here and there. his paws slipped once or twice, scrabbling on empty air—his heart stopped each time—before he regained footing, panting. he eventually kept to the edges, on more solid ground. fool he might be, but he wasn't a complete idiot.

there were wolf scents here, but they were faint, as if someone had meant to make their home in this hellhole and given up (wonder why, he thought wryly). they smelled faintly of the sea, which was nearby. cortez wondered how many wolves called the coast their home. he wondered why olive, with her free spirit, hadn't opted to take her family there instead. the sparkling waves and call of gulls seemed a perfect match for his sister.

but then, so did the willows. and honestly, he couldn't imagine her anywhere else.