He came from the south with no set destination in mind, and it always seemed inevitable that his travels would happen across pack boundaries. This time he slowed up his rolling lope as a gloomy forest loomed in this pathway, with the scent of marked claim assaulting his senses plain as could be. While he may not have always been prone to the wisest of decisions (the scabby lacerations on his hind end telling-tale of his last foray, though he lacked any ounce of regret), he did know better than to traipse too close. But, curiosity did brim. He decided to loiter a bit.
The roving male slowed and curved a path around the forest's edge. He could hear birds from deep in its depths, from their keening cries to the occasional flap of wings. Also, he suspected he smelled something loamy. Certainly, this was a curious path of land and he wondered of the wolves that had decided to make it their home.
Although he did not raise his voice to summon forth one, as he had no actual business with them, he knew someone ought to happen upon him sooner or later. Until then, he lurked just beyond their boundaries and waited to see what may happen. At worse, he'd be run off or ignored completely, which would just mean his travels would continue. At best, he may learn something before continuing northward.