Firefly Glen so shave your face with some mace in the dark

He glanced upward, lip curling at the grey skies above that threatened to rain once more. His eyes had been on the Basin—a dream pushed aside potentially for now, given the monumental amount of water that had continuously streamed from the sky as some sick joke from Mother Nature… and, of course, the monumental loneliness.

Asterism Grove, Firebirds… above all else, damn those wolves, they had possibly made his lifestyle as a general wanderer far less appealing than his previous wayward mind cared for. He had a taste of life now—the understanding of what pack and friendship could be—particularly from a certain silver she-wolf with a rambling maw—and he craved more.

He just needed to attain it.

And so the golden wolf stood in the glen, eyes gleaming with unreadable emotion as his features remained cold. Almost calculating. There was a certain crispness to the air now—fall was upon them. With that, winter right around the bend.

He needed to figure his shit out.