Lion Head Mesa Til the break o' dawn

Soot Teller's words fall like leaves on his ears. He does not know the other dark-pelted wolf which accompanied them. Her presence did not offer clues as to her intentions, but she was there with them, and therefore Fallen had been trying to come up with a suitable name for her. 

None flickered to light. Perhaps interaction was needed. The golden boy among them looked out over to the desert before them. It was far unlike the forests of his homeland, as blurry as those images were to him. He did not know what to call it, but it was... red, and ... sandy. Thus, the wolf decided to call this Red Sand. 

An absolute naming genius.

But he had to wonder where Soot Teller was taking them and who he had called for. It smelt heavily of pack-scent, and felt odd to his paws. As if the land were troubled beyond his paws. Unease rested in his heart.