Blackfoot Forest Rabenballade.

He drifted closer to the land his wanderlust consistently called to--as much as the drifter roved through valleys, he was always called back to Teekon... and he could feel the itch in his paws as he considered the creek where everything had started. Winter upon them, Pippin had displaced himself from the Ostrega gathering in Sedona once more, the precarious predicament of a winter alone worrying him far less now in his aging years than in his youth.

Hunkering down somewhere was the plan. It was simply a matter of where, for now.

What he did not expect was the dark form that seemed to trek through the unknown woods like a lost child. Before, even a year ago, anger might have filled him just at the sight of her--now, he simply felt indifference.

Molten gold eyes blinked, considering if he skirt away. After all, if the wind favored him, he could likely avoid her. It would probably leave his day more peaceful.

But Pippin had never been one for peace, and so the agouti wolf stalked forward, widening his pace around her to enter her vision before giving her a blank stare. "Bit far from home," he noted, the disdain in his tone irrelevant to the woman who would only read his lips.