Blacktail Deer Plateau it's just a triptych in decay

after having spent a few days on the coast, onyrō moves deeper inland. he smells thoroughly of saltwater after several seabathes to wash the last remaining vestiges of his past away; and while the cold saltwater could not entirely wash away all the sins it is enough.

he moves in the shadows of night and when the early sunrise of the morning breaks the velveteen colors of night into the drab grey of morning, snow had begun to fall. he seeks shelter from the worst of it in the nearest woodland. here, the scents of prey are plentiful and absent the scents of other wolves in any kind of grouping way.

the snow has snuck past the canopy of evergreens, dusting the ground, and without knowing how heavy it would fall and for long, onyrō did not want to be stuck out in it. carefully, he prowls through the trees, brushing against the branches with pine needles in order to alert any that would approach that he was lingering.

he was always at a disadvantage without a pack — and he knows this with a twist of something akin to realizing he's going to suck it up and try to join with one; and all onyrō could hope was that he'd be scented and avoided.