Tuktu Weir nothing like a big bad bridge

With the appearance of the daylight, Henryk was awake and straying from Kingslend's new home to explore the wilderness that surrounded them. This time he was alone- unless one of his new packmates decided to try and catch up with him. But for the moment he was solitary as he approached the Weir. 

The very first thing he noticed was the potent smell of unpleasantly doused beavers permeating the otherwise crisp autumn air. The earthbound fellow hadn't known the squat rodents to be a common creature but curiously, it seemed like they thrived here in mass just by the smell alone. Edging closer to the water he could see the marvelous stacks of wood and twigs they'd accumulated, and if he squinted his hazels enough he could even make a few of them out, patches of brown waddling against the messy backdrop of muck. 

His nose crinkled ever so slightly. He couldn't imagine them tasting that good though he'd never tried, but he guessed it was something like lake-water or bog smell. No... This wouldn't turn into a hunt today. But. He would observe them from afar and take mental note... 

Should dire need ever arise, beggars couldn't be choosers, and they could provide a suitable amount of food given there were wolves talented enough to catch them.

So Henryk lay idly on his belly, hidden within the brush around the Weir. Beaver-watching.