Bearclaw Valley however dangerous this may be

Caught in the rain and smelling of fresh Spring pines, young Ico was drenched as the call went up, and a minute into grooming his ivory coat back to provenance. With no time to spare, heart thrumming and slender ears tall with curiosity, Ico was thereby ungroomed and damp as he reached the forest clearing. It ran blue with wildflowers, not with water, but Ico's russet eyes were drawn to Merrick and the others he knew at Ursus. There were a few. And Ico chose one of them — Evien — to position himself (relatively) nearby to, already-elfin form low with submission as he faced Merrick.

Ico gazed here and there, drinking in the expressions and the strangers (one who barely looked like a wolf at all) and the anticipation in the air. He was already penning the tale of today.