Grouse Thicket Schmoyoho, accent on the yo.

Kaertok wound his way around the mountains, along the coast, and eventually came down the other side. It was nearing a month since he had last met with Towhee about the two additional missing wolves. Alas, he had no news to give her, but he did not intend to break his promise and not show up. He was a Tartok wolf, after all, and he knew that he must keep the name in good standing by living up to the expectation of others.

She wasn't at the lake when he checked, so the large white wolf headed a bit downward, figuring he could find some small game in the forest he had spotted while at a higher elevation. Lumbering deeper into the woods, he caught the telltale scent. He had been too far away to hear the howl before, but the smell was enough to drive him toward her. Like all Tartok, he was an instinctual beast, fueled by nature rather than nurture.

As he approached her head-on, he paused, making eye contact. He hadn't expected it to be her, but he wasn't particularly surprised. Perhaps this was why she had asked to meet him again. (Yes, that was his ego talking; it's fine.) Kaertok had not settled down with any one woman, although he had settled down briefly with many women. His tail lifted and he took another step toward her.