Neverwinter Forest The man who's a dreamer and never takes leave

This forest seemed fine.  He'd take it.  His trip back to Elysium and the discovery that he was alone had opened a door or two.  Now when he thought of Bramblepoint -- which at the time had seemed like such a nice little hideaway -- seemed claustrophobic.  This was better, now.  He'd spent some time wandering around beneath the trees before walking to the edge.

Where the pines thinned, he stood in the shadow of one that's lowest branches drooped near the ground.  Nobody nearby this instant.  He took that moment to pee on a few of the trees that made up the edge.  He was mostly operating on instinct and obvious logical leaps there.  It wasn't like he was ever taken on patrol or anything -- really, all he'd been taught was as a child he was not to cross the borders (which he ignored at least once), so there was a fair amount of luck to the fact that he picked somewhere smart and was doing the right thing to tell people to go away.  Not that a single grumpy yearling was much of a defense -- or really able to do much to defend it.

It was just the idea that it was his that was so comforting.  So he dawdled, sniffing along patches of wet earth from a drizzle earlier in the day.  Other wolves had been through here in recent history, but soon they wouldn't, because it was his.