Blackfeather Woods Praying to the label itself

His ears tilted back to him mentor but his eyes were fixated on the landscape. He could see so far! Further than the clutches of the trees would let him. This was certainly his new favourite spot.
She spoke of the crows. One followed her -- a dark shadow to contrast her paleness.
"The birds are friends."
He hadn't yet made contact with the other hatchlings. The birds could be lured with food -- sometimes when Mother fed him, he kept some for the birds. Then he sat and watched them, listened to them chatter and squabble. He was getting to know their language and soon would be able to speak it. He was sure he could with enough practice.

A moment and he was nudged back into the reality of border patrol and learning. he kept up, looking at Tundra intently. If he looked away, he'd be distracted and forget. He'd not heard of other packs. Is that where Issy went? Other packs sounded mean, maybe they took her.

Lone wolves. Funny, eh. So they didn't have a pack. How did they know what side they were on? Or did they not have a side. Did they decide themselves?
He'd find out if he was ever in the situation.
"What if a wolf who looks bad wants to join?" He knew some did have a weird feel to them. He didn't like them. He'd seen a big silver beastie prowl around.
He'd hidden from him every time.
Was this one of the trespasser people?

His head tilted, then his nose-dived down to smell. He regretted it.
The sharp smell of piss shot into his nose and made his eyes water and he sneezed successively. 
He licked his nose quickly, smelling more gently. Rowan watched Tundra add her scent in demonstration. He nodded at her question with a grin, then stepped along the border, nose down to find where the scent was weak like she did. When the ground smelt more of the earth than piss, he cocked a leg and added his scent then bounced to tundra looking for praise. He was sure he'd done a good job.