Porcupine Ridge Lost in the city of angels

Exploration was the wanderer's forte, and even a heavy snowfall, like the one burdening the ridge presently, wasn't able to keep him penned in. Farstep padded along the furthest western edge of the pack's claim, not close enough to the borders to be patrolling but far enough from the core that he was left alone for quite some time. He carried himself loftily here on his own, his tail half-mast and waving slowly as the excitement of exploring further gripped him, and his ears were pricked and turned to the sides as he loped toward a darker section of the mountain ahead.

He hadn't expected to find a huge hole in the ground there, but that's what he found. A huge hole, with snow pouring over the edges and a rim of pure ice, that was carved half out of the mountainside and half out of the ground. The wolf didn't approach immediately, instead hanging back nervously. The wag in his tail had disappeared in favour of a cautious rigid shake of the tip. His ears turned forward as he uttered a gruff sound of uncertainty. Each step he took toward it was followed by a hop back, his head snaking through the air as his nose worked furiously over the scent of water emanating from the hole, but he wouldn't yet approach it close enough to see over the edge.