Blacktail Deer Plateau gore & gold

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He had excused himself from a comforting nap within the seclusion he had with Liri and Sorin. And by 'excused', he simply got up, briskly shook himself and mumbled a quick "I'll be back," to Liri bfore just taking himself from their presence and a bit further off.

As all wild things came and went, he needed a moment to wander, to feel the strings of fate on him once again. It was a thrill, being away from safety, you know? Just rollin' with the lazy tides of life until something came and pulled you under. Or until it tried to, atleast. He hadn't been killed yet- he had been brought back from the resolute emptiness that sought to claim him time and time again. Liri kept him tethered firmly to this world, breathing life back into him through her random rituals of saving whenever illness struck him or if he somehow survived some freak accident or incident. A fucking Elk kick straight to the shoulder- how had he not been left to die in that field? The Flu- herbs she had kept stashed had pulled the heat away before the alphess had handed him over for treatment from-

Gritting bony jaws together, he kept the woman's name far from his head. He wouldn't dwell on the past. As Liri had told him, as she was trying to teach him, the past was over with. Done. What mattered was his pack family, and what he could do for them.

Through the thinning helm of trees, he followed down the sloping mound of ground was cold, he noticed, as thick pads of black lethargically plodded over the crisp ground, carrying over one hundred and twenty pounds of mackenzie mixed muscle, covered in a sheet of inken abysmal black fur, some near mystical sheen of metallic blue roving a wave through each ripple of muscle in the light that broke overhead. Crown forever downcast, burly shoulder muscles seemed to be completely headless until you noticed the low skull  that kept his garnet gaze primarily ground-bound. 

It was a nice day. He'dve preferred it a bit more gloomy, but who was he to complain? He was alive. And he had to honor that, atleast. By killing something else. And bringing it back to camp. But just as his trail struck true to a mulling partridge, another trail led a much more fresh and much less mouthwatering path towards a river he knew would basin off further down the south. It was clearly a recent wolf, and knowing it was better to try and make friends than it was enemies, he would follow this path. Or atleast use them to forget his past, somehow. That would be a fucking miracle.