Bearclaw Valley is it okay to cry, sometimes?

In the day-dimming fog, a large wolf traipsed warily through the deepening slush. He had not been on his own for very long, and the aftershock of dispersing from the Pike seemed to hit young Phoenix in odd and crippling waves. He regretted his decision now almost as much as he rejoiced in it. Fighting with his father and abandoning his mother and sister seemed petty and dishonest at this distance, after he had put hundreds of miles behind him. He often found himself looking over his shoulder (despite his choice to continue on) and he seemed to be wondering, or maybe hoping, that any one of them had followed.

No one ever came, and his progress became less alluring the more lonely he became with each passing day. He supposed he would have had to leave them at some point anyway; sometimes, it just felt like it had been too soon. Pushing the latter grievance away, he decided instead to focus on putting something on his stomach. Following the makings of a traveling deer herd, he was interested to find that the broad trails led into a wide breach in the rock walls he had initially thought impassable.

He headed for the valley's door, yet unaware that he would be met at the gate by the blaring scent of place claimed.

HI *whispers siiiiisssster* He's approaching the border she intends to scout :)