Bearclaw Valley "I have plans for you."

The soldier marched his way through the valley until he came to another impasse: a clear path carved along the heart of the valley where wolf-scent lingered.

Although he did not recognize who left the markings, Glaukos found himself thinking back to a conversation he'd had as a boy; except, fragmented. He did not remember the woman's name, or the bulk of what they'd been speaking of. He remembered a mixture of feelings, and in his current state—and after so many years—it did not make sense. All of this he put aside.

The smart thing to do would be to stand and wait, perhaps to watch for patrols if the scents were fresh enough. Maybe to linger and make another camp, try to count the bodies if he saw any; but, Glaukos did not feel smart right now. He was exhausted, and wounded, and frustrated.

He chose to ignore the scents of other wolves and passed over the path, hiking his way deeper in to the valley. He did not move as if he owned the place (this was not Rivenwood) but there was a certain familiarity that gathered inside of himself as he roamed.

Once, this place had been his home.