shaking the wings of their terrible youths

With his trip to Otter Creek having been rather eventful, the ghostly male headed back towards the border with his head high. He hadn't had to resort to any unnecessary violence, nor did he need to draw any blood, which always left him in a good mood. As he neared the fringes of the territory, his copper orbs were drawn to a slight dent in the ground. Curious, his path was veered slightly in order for him to be able to go and check it out, his steps careful so as not to fall into it himself. Once he was close enough to get a good look at it, his steps stopped and he began scanning the inverted mound, as well as the area around it. The rain hadn't seemed overly heavy to him, but maybe that was due to him being a bit distracted. Must have collapsed, he thought, glancing around. He knew it would be best to tell someone from the pack of the tunnels collapse so they could avoid it if they entered them, but that wasn't his main concern at the moment.

No, his mind was focused on the fact that another wolf had been in the tunnels, and he wasn't so sure it was a member of his pack. Following the scent, the brute soon found himself nearing a place he'd never considered going to—the swamps. The land seemed as if it would be hard to navigate through, but he didn't need to go far. He hadn't even really needed to enter the area, because the one who had left the tunnels stood on it's outer edges. Normally, he would approach in a cautious way, but they were too close to home for comfort. Stepping closer, a sharp bark of warning left his maw, his eyes trained to the female's form. "Treading a bit close to the border, don't you think?" His voice came out lower than what he was initially going for, but it couldn't be helped.