The Sentinels to hate my enemies

As usual, Tahoe woke early to scout and restrengthen the pack’s borders. It was a tedious task, but one he so took enjoyment in. On some days, he would follow the scents of others who had scouted before him, primarily keep rough tabs on what was occurring within the clan. It was an occasional tendency, contributed in part by his investigative nature. He found a scent—Umbra’s—and for the sake of it, he chose to follow. Soon after, he discovered a familiar scent mingled with the woman’s; Wintersbane’s—the group’s former leader. It had been awhile since he’d seen the guy, as far as he knew, he had left the pack entirely. The two had been there, roughly an hour or so back. Tahoe sniffed attentively at the sand, gathering all the information he could. It appeared they had a brief interaction, then split, considering their trails went off in different directions. With a huff, he sat there for a moment, curiously contemplating.

While it would’ve been easier to seek Umbra on the matter, her retelling would not be the same as getting the information from Wintersbane himself. He wanted to know where their former leader had gone for so long. Had he reclaimed the pack for his own? Considering the man’s presence had been accepted by Umbra, he must’ve been welcomed back in the least—so it seemed. To find out the truth, he followed the man’s scent to wherever it would take him—the Sentinels. 

After some time, he had found Wintersbane at last—who seemed to be occupied with tracking a scent trail of his own. McBride picked up the pace to catch up with him. 

Wintersbane. He greeted in a crisp woof, hopefully to avoid startling the man—considering his approach was from behind. It would be smarter to gauge the wolf’s reaction before going nearer. Good to see you.