Sleepy Fox Hollow gain no strength from counting the beads on a rosary

Up, up, up into the Sunspire Mountains. Thick, fluffy flakes billowed down from the featureless skies above, obscuring all but the way forward; scents, sights, sounds -- all dampened by the heavy snowfall. A light wind whispered the trees, sending the flurries into a spiral as they whisked away down the steep incline on his left. The pines sagged from the weight, occasionally groaning out in protest as the boughs strained to retain their form. One even succeeded in shaking loose the burden, sending it down in a solid clump where it landed with an audible thwump somewhere off to the right. 

He took another step, and another, then another after that. 

A particular, peculiar, instinct drove him to chase down the hint of wolf, difficult though it was with the dismal weather. Rian paused simply to brace himself and shake loose the snow clinging to his downy mahogany coat before forging doggedly ahead again. He set his jaw against the furtive beginnings of a painful twinge twisting up from his left hock, and lifted it gingerly to shake it loose midstep. The trail shifted, and he turned in pursuit of it, noting how the trees began to thinl; the pines mere memories of the trail in his wake.

The pungent aroma of a border marker hooked into his mind. He stilled, but turned his great head to regard the source, brows pinched in thought. And while concern did well in the absence of continuous motion, Rian cupped his ears, and slowly stretched to investigate. His conclusions came quickly and proved blessedly fruitful. This was the pack he had traced back here. A thrill shot through his spine, hackles briefly flaring with apprehension before relaxing again as he retraced several yards until settling in an open break in the barren trees. 

Rian lifted his voice to the rickety wood in an undulating bid for company.