Bearclaw Valley you're not to stop me, whatever happens

Begrudgingly Riley headed for home.

His sojourn had not been an entire failure. He had seen some strange wolves, had sharpened that little weapon called instinct - and had even learned, he could rely on himself better than others.

He did not return to Easthollow for his mother, nor his brother. He found himself tackling familiar trails only out of sheer boredom. Living alone was not exactly a thrilling life: while the vistas were hauntingly pretty and the lonesome trail thrilling, Riley didn't have the capcity to appreciate such things. He wanted company only because, he himself made for poor company alone.

He came across a wolf older than him muttering to himself. Riley had noticed his scent in the area, but had not particularly cared. Something in him - that uglier part of him - wished for confrontation as he came upon the thin beast. His eyes set on the male with a glittering hardness unusual for one so young, pointedly to observe he had just heard the wolf talking to himself.