Bearclaw Valley here stood this door alone on an endless stretch of beach

the voice of one unfamiliar pulled the somber young wolf’s attention. weary gold eyes locked on the figure who had spoken to him, having made a remark about whether or not he was a trespasser. the ghost did not stir dramatically at the words. it was not his pack to run, he reminded himself internally before dipping his nose toward the dirt and showing the proper display of submission.
 
“no, not a trespasser,” illidan offered him with a shake of his head.
 
“the dark she-wolf accepted me, brought me into the pack,” the ghost then elaborated, hoping that would quell the questions of his belonging. the scents of his coat were still foreign, he understood that. after having been within ursus for the short time he had, illidan did not think that there was a beast alive that could steal into the territory without losing their life. it was almost an honor for this stranger to have believed it of him.