Bearclaw Valley Green, green thunder and the loud, loud rain

They travelled in fair weather, roving further Southeast from the Rise than Ameline had ever been before. Along the way, they scented the activity of other packs, but navigated around them. They slept under the stars, in meadows that were laced with frost when they awoke. She spared no backwards glances for the wolves she figured might be celebrating their departure. To hell with them; they weren't needed anyway. 

A stony rise protected what looked like a pathway into a fortress. Curious, she looked to Ancelin to see what he made of it, the seashell still carried carefully in her mouth. She nudged his shoulder, bumping her nose gently against the bearclaw that hung from the thick, unruly fur of his chest. 

She moved forward, though she could note the scent of wolves in the area, though from what she could tell, they might be younger. Their scents were not heavy with hormones yet. 

She stopped when she heard a hollow scuffling and turned her head to see a den, and noticed the dust and dirt that had begun to cloud at its entrance. Almost as soon as she noticed it, she scrunched up her nose, set her seashell down as quickly (but gently) as she could, and began to sneeze.