Ankyra Sound sheepskin

Vigilante— making irritably slow progress and without any cheer— dragged his feet north into the thickening saltine air. A deep and tumbling mist preceded him, absorbing sweet sunbeams and turning them flaccid grey as it went. The fog was indomitable; persisting despite the high winds that swept through like a stern broom. The haunter's field of vision fell into obscurity, but his other senses marched him faithfully towards the sea. He remembered his intention (to draw inspiration from the invulnerable ocean) and he let it be the only thing leading him forward besides the occasional hunger pang.

He thought today might be the day, as the outline of a coastal weald began to materialize ahead of him. Through these woods, I'll find the sea, he surmised, a moment before suddenly grinding to a halt. Before him was the clear and present border of a diligent, well-partied pack. The wolf backtracked carefully, the boughs ahead morphing once more into a conglomerate silhouette as he distanced himself from the claim.

After a brief pause during which he chose to randomly head back west instead of east, Vigilante began to hunt plainly for a way around this present obstacle.