Moonspear comedic timing

Markus did not miss the mountain in the distance, he was not oblivious to the tall peak. He had used it, in fact, as a beacon as he wandered, growing ever closer to the point he had fixed in his sights. He should have realized that it would be claimed - that a whole damn pack sat on it. As he grew closer to the scent barrier, screaming in his nostrils to pull up, move away - go home - his pace slowed and he frowned at what he should have known was the inevitable. Well, that wasn't entirely fair. Not every mountainside had a mass of wolves growing on it, he imagined, but it was by his personal luck that he should have predicted it. It was only because Markus was moving toward it that it was occupied - thus was the world he lived in, sometimes.

He gave the scent markers a respectful bit of distance as he stood a bit beyond them, inhaling softly and scanning the cold range beyond. He seemed to almost trance out of reality as he stared, still and quiet. Then he turned abruptly and began to follow the border at a casual, easy pace. He kept his eyes on the mountain, though he was not wary. He would just find a way around and then keep going, there would be another landmark to follow beyond this one. In the back of his mind came the nagging knowledge of winter and the push to avoid being caught in the season alone. He should join a pack, like this one, he should settle in and settle down. The idea made a part of him uncomfortable and itchy. He didn't want to die, frozen into the ground like some morbid monument to stupidity, but he was wary to commit himself to some random peoples, too. Random mountain people. Any people, really.

It was all very complicated, so he thought. He chewed on it, irritated with himself, as he continued along the borderline, watching the stone and rock on the other side with interest and a dash of hesitant curiosity.