Hoshor Plains inside your mind

In recent weeks, Beau felt that he was finally growing into himself. At three years old maybe it was a bit late, but weren't personalities always evolving? He had finally gathered his confidence in whole, gained a sense of seniority, and he could walk with his head held just a bit higher - so maybe he did have something to thank that sour pack girl for.

Passing through the flatlands at a trot, he found himself growing excited for the months to come. It would be when most women were in season, and while he didn't care much for raising pups, he did enjoy the company of their mothers. Since leaving Verapaz and dreams of Leto behind, Beau had accepted that this lifestyle was the best for him; if the natural instinct was to want to help your genes survive by passing them on to children, why not take every provided opportunity to do so? It made more sense to him than continuing to follow hopes of love, mates, and settling in vain as so many men did.

But until those sacred months, what was he meant to do? The flatlands could be so quiet despite recent visitors. He had considered the question many times over; thought to join a pack, but he had no real interest in living as a follower anymore. Thought to claim his own territory, but he hated to remain seditary, and he hated the weight of leadership. A couple wolves to walk with would would be nice, he thought, like in his days of cattle hunting. No pressure, no leaders, just familiar faces he could rely on.

Maybe with this thought in mind, or maybe out of curiosity, he threw a howl into the air.