Luneshale Pass naught left but the tree you were certain

attn @Soto for joining purposes but as always, all welcome! <3

life has a vagabond does not sit well upon dracarys' shoulders. it has thinned him over the weeks, dulling the sheen of his fur. he is a creature of habit, needing the hierarchy of a pack to function. life alone had sounded like such a fever dream as a cub, even when he'd first left the fjord behind to 'make his own way'. but he craved the stability of a pack, needed it like it was oxygen in his lungs.

there is no particular reason he cuts his path towards the scent of pack that claimed the pass ... aside from they were the first pack he'd scented in the lowlands. there is, dracarys notes, a scent that rings briefly familiar to him.

his steps slow, leaving ample distance between their scent markers and himself before tipping his head back and letting out a low, short howl: announcing his presence.