Hideaway Strath tap the vein that bleeds

AW. Tag is simply for reference.

Laying low was what Pippin did best—he scraped by on smaller game or bounty left behind a predator who already took their fill. He had been called a scavenger once in his travels by another who had been unimpressed with his attitude, and as much as he despised to admit, the term had not settled well with him.

But that did not stop the wandering paws of the golden Ostrega. The white arrow upon his back bristled as a sweep of summer wind drifted over him, and while he had been simply scouring in the moment, it was a scent that caught his attention and pulled a small frown to his features. Bright eyes of amber blinked as he took in where he stood—some dense land somewhere, far from the plateau. So what was @Towhee doing here?

Nose sweeping along the ground, the markings grew stronger, and as quickly as realization hit him, the rogue quickly backtracked, unwilling to draw attention to himself. Had the Redhawks moved? With quiet contemplation, Pippin studied the land drenched in the scent of one of the wolves he had probably screwed over in his life.

In truth, he couldn’t recall a wolf he hadn’t screwed over in some way. And that was something that addled him.