Northstar Vale shotguns and barbed wire fences

With smoke causing the once fresh air to reek and become heavy in his lungs, Bruges sought out a respite from the stiflingly poor air quality and headed for the mountains- assuming that with higher elevation, the air would be clearer. Bruges had not grown up on the mountainside, but found it agreeable- he was nimble and light on his feet, and unlike some who might find the loose footing condusive to clumsiness, he found himself enjoying the challenge of moving along, as silently as possible, without missing a step. The mountain, without a doubt, called to him. 

Once he had enjoyed a touch of fresh, mountain air, he ambled down the mountainside, still picking his way along with the cleverness of one who had been raised on the shale. Fate, it seemed, had drawn him there- for in the distance he caught sight a shadow that moved with the agile and feline grace that was more suitable of a panther than it was of a wolf- but still, the canine shape could belong to nothing but a wolf. This wolf too seemed to belong in the rugged landscape, though her pelt would have made her disappear into oblivion once the sun set. No trace of silver or grey seemed to mar the darkness of her pelt, and he found himself allured by the subtle grace of her beauty.