Morningside Cuesta the music's too loud

Ranging far from the Watch was a good plan, he thought. Kigipigak wanted to know the landscape the way he knew the icey flats of his last home; even though he was meaning to return across the mountains to the next valley over, Kigipigak felt he had all the time in the world to complete that task. The Watch was coming along well enough. Valmua was happy, they had acquired Chanel, and while the girl was settling in (and getting to know Stjornuati) there wasn't much left for Kigipigak to do.

So he did what came naturally: he traveled.

To the rise, to the maplewood of the taiga, and beyond—all the way to this sprawling meadow flanked by shards of mountain. His pale shape had become a mess of browns, grays and greens with each new place visited. Blood marked his chest from where he had slain and eaten a round bird; bits of maple twigs remained tangled in his nape fur.

As Kigipigak climbed the next hill he thought he detected wolf scent on the wind; not only that but familiar wolf scent. At the apex he paused and looked around. There was a distant shape a dozen or so feet beyond him—actually a pair of shapes. One figure he did not know and the other, ghost-like, looking back towards the mountains.

Kigipigak was cautious on his approach until he was close enough to identify Arktoi.
Little hunter! Hello again. Who is your friend? The traveler called out to her.