Bearclaw Valley And I'll be in Scotland afore ye

The lopsided standoff at the border had given him plenty to think about. For one, his physical ability. Would he be able to hold his own in a fight? In stature, he fit right in among the wolves, but most of them outweighed him, some by a great deal. And while a trained warrior would be able to work with that kind of weaknesses, Fraser didn't have the slightest clue how he could compensate for his gaunt frame.

He pondered this on his jaunt around the perimeter today, something he'd started to engage in most days. It was a cool morning but the sun was out and felt lovely on his back; more and more flowers were blooming with the passing of time. His paws slipped through the dew-covered grass, gathering moisture. He flopped over and rolled briefly, refreshing himself.

When he rose to his paws, Fraser was covered in bits of fresh vegetation, mud and detritus, and his pelt was wet. He was a far cry (at least in appearance) from the well-groomed, blue-blooded naive creature that had entered this valley unknown to the dangers that resided here.