Ouroboros Spine midnight science fiction feature

Possible joining thread!

While cursed with a less than stellar sense of smell, the fact that even he could note such a thick scent of wolf here meant he was on the right track. He had encountered two other borders, one almost right after the other, leading to a ring of mountains that surrounded what appeared to be a hollow in the middle, like a giant crater upon the land. Scent trails criss-crossed between all three territories, as if they were all connected somehow. A syndicate of packs?

The sun was just beginning to set as he approached the edge of the packlands with a haggard and limping stride. The journey and effort of climbing the mountain was beginning to take its toll, not to mention the previous wounds that had since scabbed over that hindered his travels. If it helped his image of a poor, struggling loner, however, he accepted the pain for now. He just hoped such a large pack were not opposed to taking in such pathetic-looking strays. It was a shame he had lost his trading supplies; memories of the ambush still brought bile to his tongue.

A marker with the tang of pack scent marked the boundary line, suggesting he stop his approach. With a groan, Quentin rolled back onto his haunches before throwing up a howl to whoever was near.