Firefly Glen Away From The Tundran Vale

When did my handle of life break?
So thought Ranier as he padded across the softened, damp ground, at last adopting a slower pace. He'd been racing at top speed for who knows how long, after breaking free of the poacher's cage and shedding his forced harness. It had been a narrow escape; a faint smell of resin leather and gunpowder still clung to his fur.

For the first time in years, he'd bitten off more than he could devour with those fur trappers. Ranier had been confident in his abilities to protect his pack from abduction; only to have been abducted himself. Still, at least he had stopped them from taking the young, even if it meant he must pay the price with this forsakening.

The ruddy, boglike landscape around Ranier reminded him strongly of his home in the vale. Zov Tigra's rivers would often overflow and soak the ground into trecherous muck, particularly in winter. He wasn't sure until this moment what had drawn him here, but that most certainly would be the culprit; a natural sense of familiarity in this foreign territory.

Ranier paused in his musings. The faintest trace of bestial musk tugged at his senses, and he lowered his snout closer to the ground. Wolves. Instinctively, his eyes darted about, searching for signs of stalking, fellow predators, skulking behind cover. If he were still alone now, it would not be for long.

Weighing his options quickly, Ranier deliberated. There was no way to know if these wolves would treat him as a hostile, and yet he would be unlikely to evade a pursuit in an unfamiliar terrain. And without knowing pack size, an aggressive approach could be suicide. So, parley until time for fight-to-the-death, settled, then.

Settling on his haunches, Ranier faced the lush green canopy and let out a deep howl.