Bearclaw Valley for a moment the gunslinger merely stood inside the door

it was true that while the dark-hooded wolf roamed through the trees that dappled the territory, he was unaware to the presence that followed behind him. the scents of ursus were still too new to the ghost. everywhere that he trekked through the pack had filled his senses with something different, something sharp and unfamiliar. more than once, he had stopped to turn his crown and breathe in the fragrance of the breeze that promised autumn and then winter. illidan could not help but to be filled with a sense of remorse at being so far from his home and not knowing anything about the remaining members of his family.
 
the scent was not what turned the ghost’s head toward skoll. it was the faint ruffling of foliage that caused the young wolf to swing his head around and search the woodland behind him. the hairs along his neck and back lifted only slightly, just enough to show his hesitation and guarded nature. then, illidan waited to see if someone would emerge from the rough shrubs.