Bearclaw Valley the wake [m]

Ulysses is wary to even come towards the bear claw shaped mountain ranges. He can smell the scent markings and see the prints of another pack. He knows he’s not welcome, part of it–him being a lone wolf. The other–him being part dog. He knows most wolves don’t take too kindly to his kind. 

Though he finds himself wondering down into the vastness of the valley. Pawing down the veins of the winding paths to the valley itself. Eyes gaze upon the boulders and rocks that surely had to of fallen from the mountain itself. The smell of the coniferous trees and the crunch of pine under his paws make his ears twitch with the anxiety of being on edge just in case.

Uly finally makes it to the bottom of the path that opens up to the field, peppered with the trees of previous mention, and a land of pure whiteness greets him. The snow here lies on the ground in a solid sheet, disrupted by the movement of the creatures that inhabit it. Uly merely stands there, ghostly eyes gazing upon the nature before him. Here he’d remain for a while.