Sheepeater Cliff Don't shoot love, baby

As soon as the tree line broke, I swiveled my spine upwards, clarion blue eyes soaking up the heavens that floated above them. How graceful this blanket seemed to stretch from one horizon to the next, not a wrinkle in its unmarred belly. Down south this hue of the sky was a warmer cerulean, more easily to absorb the heat of the sun. I could only remember the misty gray-blue pastels that would seem so far out of touch. I would have to remember to trek up here at night and observe the difference of star patterns.

My trepid step brought me out into the rolling fields which cleaved sharply downwards. In the blurry distance I could make out the defines of Firestone Hotsprings, before the wooded blue lines of the far territory met the opposite mountains that made up the valley. It was another point of interest for me to visit, although it seemed the group was heading north. It would make the travel time no less than a five day's walk.

I shuffled along at a meandering pace, my nose and ears balking at each new and undiscovered scent. I had remembered what had happened the day before- a rather unsavory and awkward encounter with an established pack member. I was encouraged to return to the northern holding of my affiliations, but I was consistently mulling my reactions to strangers. It would be better to just return to the base and regroup until I had a permanent lodging. But of course, this wilderness was teeming with wolves. I could make out the firm black outline as I approached the northern mountainside, it's feet covered in thick pine forests. I halted, my ears flattened. Would it be better to just skirt this ebony wolfess who stood oh so conveniently in the path to the Tartok wolves? A sharp breath whistled silently through my mouth as my guard hairs crept closer to my skin.

Rather than letting out a soft chuff to alert this stranger, I padded slowly through the grass, eyes uneasily prying at the female's pelt. Perhaps she was trying to find the reclusive waterfall camp; a prospective warrior for the ranks. Or a loner, scrounging for a meal. Whoever she was, I wasn't one for putting up an assertive presence, rather stopping several bounds away, chin low.
Good evening.