Lost Creek Hollow Golden Slumbers

He yawned once more when he was met with silence. Maybe these newcomers were shy, though he couldn't understand why they would wake him up and then look at him so oddly. When Gunnar's name was mentioned, her perked up, as though given a jolt of caffeine. He looked from one man to the other- noting how intense and concerned Sandy's eyes were, and noticing just then that Crowfeather had only three legs. Skáld's head tilted to the side in curiosity. How had that happened? 

The two strangers took up so much of his interest that he didn't notice immediately how unfamiliar his surroundings were. He did not know every tree and rock in his own pack's territory, though the trees here called his attention by their sheer height. His head tilted back, and his mouth fell open slightly as he looked up in amazement. He'd never seen trees so tall...

He dropped his muzzle, confusion pursing his lips. His ears flicked back, and he sniffed. None of this- not the wolves, not the trees, not the scent of the place- was familiar. He gave his head a soft shake. The man with three legs bid him to come, but with the dawning of realization came fear. He rose to his feet shakily, but tucked his tail between his hind legs. He looked to the other man. 

"Gunnar?" 

They knew his name. So they must know where he was.