Dawnlark Plains why men great 'til they gotta be great?

He had run from Easthollow, and had not stopped, not even to look back. His muscles burned from overuse, and he would feel the ache if he rose the next day. For now, his adrenaline numbed the pain, and he carried on. Needing to put as much distance between himself and the plains as he possibly could. They would know his trail, they would find it - but they couldn't find him. He would make sure of that.

Distance was his only ally. The further he tore from Easthollow, the heavier his reason and surety of mind returned. One, that Leta was fine. Two, that he had seen Greyback breathing. Three, that Indra -- 

His pace slowed. He breathed. Three, that Indra had found the herds, and had followed them. She would return, successful or not.

The trees thinned to reveal a large expanse. He finally stopped to look and see where his paws had taken him.

The same dusting of snow covered the ground of Dawnlark Plain, as it had way back when he had been not even a yearling. When he had followed his mother out to Elysium, and he first found her in a tryst with Grey --

A smear of grey distracted him; he thought no further on Elysium. Instead he watched as the stranger moved with a clip across the plain -- a pace that spoke of more than mere wandering -- and not for the first time, he remembered that there was life outside of Easthollow. That there were wolves who did not know them, who would never tangle in their affairs, and who had lives and goals and pursuits of their own. Most of these lives, he would never know, and he wondered how Easthollow, and all his problems, and all their problems, could feel so very big --

and truly next to everything, be so very small.