Hushed Willows get me drinkin' that moonshine

And so winter fell upon Hearthwood. Cold wind whipped through stripped branches and fresh snow coated the forest floor. In spite of this, the claim had solidified. Newly dug caches began to fill. The borders strengthened with the fervent efforts of Hearthwood's residents. It was turning into a proper home for a growing pack.

Kyrell had been at range. He had been raised as a woodsman, and spent much of his time winding throwing the twisting wood. Most of Hearthwood's forests comprised of the willow of which the land had been named. But there was the occasional oak sparsely placed within the wood as well as evergreen thickets of pine and fir. Through it all, Kyrell danced. Letting his frequent passings flatten bush and carve new paths within the wood for the use of other residents. Of course he would have his own trails for himself. The personal shortcuts should a trail become blocked.

Snow crunched underfoot as he charged through a new path. Fleet of foot and a thrill within his heart. The beat of his own footfall therapeutic, and his mind wandered.

The trails are shared by not just wolves, Keith. You need to be able to find your way off the beaten path should something go awry.

Kyrell stopped dead in his tracks. He hadn't thought of... him in some time. Emerald eyes shifted about the wood as the exhilaration turned to discomfort. Jubilation being picked apart by pesky memories. Hearthwood had been his first new home since his birthplace. How long had he been on the road?

He didn't want to think about it.

Ravens cawed and chattered. New murders clouding the air and diving down through the branches. Kyrell's head snapped to attention as a deep bark echoed among the frosted boughs.

Good. Something to do.

Willowly limbs set into motion again. Snow churning behind him as Kyrell galloped. Boone's scent drifting through the air. A smile tugged at his lips. He had yet to spend time with the boss man.

Mischief danced within his eyes as he caught up to the giant of a man. With little warning he leaped to his side. Cutting it a bit close to send snow upon the Harbinger.

It was a bold move, yet he kept his posture low. Deference. Just enough, by his account. A devious grin danced across his lips as Kyrell looked Boone up and down. It was rare to see the man without his wife. His head cocked to the side. Bird chasing?