Cerulean Cape Been broken down

The call to adventure had snared him months ago, leaving his paws itching and eager to tread upon new and unfamiliar soil. His usual wanderings had become solitary, straying further away and for longer stretches of time until finally he saw it fit to depart from his birth pack for good. The goodbyes to his family had been a tearful affair—none shed by him—his youngest sister bawling her eyes out. Fortunately, he had been able to leave on good terms, and though he missed the banter of his siblings, their laughter or even just a simple conversation, he knew their destinies lay elsewhere. Perhaps one day their paths would cross. But for now he was on his own, free to do whatever he pleased.

Finnur strode through great forests covered in white, sprinted across plains reaching from horizon to horizon and crossed rivers that lay like fat snakes upon the land. He ate nowhere near as much as he used to with an entire pack backing him up, lending him their superior experience, but the meat was tender and tasted better than anything he had ever swallowed.

Then one day, the landscape shifted and fell away to a lake so massive he could not see the opposite shore, the winds leaping from wave to wave carrying an unfamiliar, and quite frankly disgusting, scent. It was amazing. He travelled along its coast, following the twists and curves, wondering just how large this strange lake could be, until he spotted a lonely figure sitting at the end of a long peninsula, a dark pillar against a vast expanse of blue.

The wind betrayed her to be a female wolf—the first member of his species he had seen in months. Finnur paused as a cry erupted from her throat, the fury in it plunging so deep it sounded more like the voice of a vicious monster, not an ordinary wolf. But another push of the wind carried the scent of something else. Pain.

He started forward, maintaining some distance from the dark female, unwilling to surprise her though a part of him was swift to point out he likely would considering the circumstances. "Who pissed on your meat?" he asked, trying for a humorous tone bordering on neutrality, an appeasing smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. The humour faded as he spoke once more. "What's wrong?" He seriously doubted she was merely angry over a failed hunt or pained from an empty stomach.