Herbalists' Cache the itch

He'd made it—it had taken him a while, and there had been various detours before he got the bearing right, but he'd made it. The worst of the permafrost was behind him now; everywhere he looked, though marginally greener and really not as different as he expected, was the Teekon Wilds. It thrilled him in indescribable ways to know that he'd made this journey successfully, as it had been a dream since he was a puny whelp—and here he was!

The sky was clear, save for a few clouds gathering like bunched cotton over his head. The grass seemed to hum. The trees were swaying against the northerly winds, the same winds that had been buffering against him as he'd made his way, almost as if they were alive and trying to keep him out. It was a glorious moment of triumph!

And a little out-of-focus in his periphery, the grizzled white wolf sticking out like a big toasted eyesore against a backdrop of green. Well, nothing in life was perfect. But for all Raimo could tell, this was a true Wildling; he was already moving on an intercept course to where the stranger loitered, bursting over a hill with a thin smile on his face (which for Raimo was the equivalent of a dopey grin although it looked crooked and out-of-place).

Hail! He bellowed as he arrived—his voice an eruption that boomed through the trees, spurring a flight of starlings from the henge of trees around them.