Sleepy Fox Hollow i want to play a game.

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​the loner is drawn to the mountains. there is something about the daunting yet protective nature of the spires which reach the sky, the talllest of heights sometimes obscured by winter clouds. the mountain range is a far cry from the open fields of his birthplace... of the pack from which he had been outcast by his own father due to lack of food and rescources; this, he feels, these mountains, will give him the safety and obscurity for which he longs.

jigsaw approaches the borderlands of a strange pack and it takes him only a few hours of pacing just away from the territory lines before he decides to try his hand at joining. the hollow is safely obscured by the mountains, covered by a light layer of snow and scenting of red foxes. a soft whine of indecision escapes him just before he makes the difficult and potentially dangerous decision, laying his ears back and tilting his two toned maw towards the bleak gray clouds. his song, arguably quite a bit more beautiful than that of the average wolf, rings into the air, slow and soft at first before climbing to a long, pleasant and somehow powerful pitch. the speckled male maintains his call for a long time before lowering his snout and beginning to peer anxiously beyond the borders and into the bleak yet open lands of this pack of which he knows nothing, but is somehow drawn to.