Herbalists' Cache devil gonna take me

He'd travelled far enough he could no longer hear or see the ocean, but somehow, he still felt waves lapping at his heels. The ebb and pull of the tide. The thrum of it, like a second heartbeat in his chest.

Perhaps, if he were a different sort of wolf, he might have recognized these feelings as longing or wistfulness. As it was, he thought little of it at all, and continued doggedly southeast for no reason in particular. Perhaps because he could feel pain, even metaphysical, and sought to distance himself from the source.

Catamaran stopped at the edge of the frosted hollow he'd been walking through. There was no sweeping, official claim to set him off, but he smelled wolves about. A small family — perhaps in need of an extra warm body for the winter?

He snuffled around, hoping to find out more about them. The few present scents were catalogued; he lifted his leg on a rock to add his own to the mix, and then began to slink around the outer reaches of where these scents were present. Perhaps he'd run into someone. Perhaps he wouldn't, and he would simply carry on the same way he'd been going.