Blackfoot Forest I have no disguise you can't see through.

Time had tempered Mesa's anger, cooled it, and soon enough the bear-dog was forgotten.

He found a game trail along the edge of the forest. There were low-hanging branches that had been clipped clean of buds, likely by resident deer, and as he followed after one of the more obvious trails through the ferns the man found something else — a marked patch, stained by wolf urine.

Mesa paused over this for a few moments to deliberate. His options were obvious: leave, or stay and hunt; one would guarantee abstinence from social interaction, while staying would more than likely force him in to conflict with whoever lived here.

The bear-dog's puffy face flashed in his mind suddenly and he turned back to the marked patch to double-check the scent, but did not yet make up his mind.