Redhawk Caldera and wound up at your door.

Penn was quiet and thoughtful as he sat on the crest of a high ridge near the top of the Caldera's Western slopes. He'd discovered many things he hadn't expected upon returning to the Wilds. The Caldera was empty with no trail for him to follow to seek out the one he'd wanted to check in on (not that he'd ever intended on actually speaking to her, stalker that he is). Discovering that had made him wonder about their neighbors and the pack he had helped to found. He'd discovered they were there still, but blatantly absent were a few scents he had never thought would be missing. Nor had he ever thought would affect him if they were no longer there to be found.

The latter discovery had driven him back to the beheaded mountain where he could sit and stare and brood in peace, but for the demons that haunted him. What had happened to Wraen? And Ibis? He hadn't wanted to care; he'd run from caring as fast and for as long as he could. But he did. The Blackthorn had no doubt that the children he'd fathered were better off without him, but something innate and inescapable just wouldn't let them disappear from his mind. He'd never seen them before, didn't know their names or how many there even were. But he carried them, and he couldn't help but wonder about them.

Little did he realize, they were gone too.

Penn huffed a breath into the fading daylight. He was surprised to realize it had begun to snow, light little flakes of white dust drifting down almost lazily. He turned his eyes away from the forest in the distance to peer North, pondering his next move, wondering where he ought to run to next.