Lost Creek Hollow ain't been sober, since maybe October of last year

[forward dating to the 29th, AW!]
there was something utterly foreign about being in a pack that was not her own. she been part of Morningside since it's birth to it's ultimate disbanding, and it had been her life, her heart. being one of Rannoch's wolves ("Lost Creek Hollower" was awkward and wordy) sharpened the burn that came with the absence of her own home. in an effort to stop dwelling on the fact that she very much felt like a fish out of water among these wolves, she woke early that morning to wander the territory, mapping and making not of game trails and caches she came across. 

her muzzle hung over a cache as she drew in the scent of it, gaze already seeking out landmarks before moving on at a slow pace. she'd welcomed dozen of pack members in the past, and it was utterly strange to be the new face herself; unease at the strangeness of it all huddled tight in her chest. she paused in her step and huffed at a disturbance in the ice-crusted snow, someone had taken down prey here, not too long ago. it awakened hunger in herself, but she kept moving, unwilling to take from the cache before she'd contributed to it.