Hushed Willows everyone wants the same thing

He walked. Walked until he could walk no further. The time and day sprawled across his mind - night, nearly midnight - in fleeting grasps. He had to walk at night, for he could not stand the blinding lights that were day. Holland had no idea where he was, what this place was even called - but did he really care? The thought of hunting someone down to ask was exhausting. He was exhausted. He didn't have any patience to deal with someone right now.

Stopping in the willows, he would pause. His body seemed to creak as he slowly sat, showing age before his time. Of course, this was just the way he carried himself. It had nothing to do with a mental or physical state. Very rarely did he pause at night. He sought those precious moonlit hours to travel. This willowed area seemed to be perfect for some hunting and resting though. Then he'd be on his way, find a suitable place to sleep for the upcoming daylight. Winter was upon the man.

He was acutely aware that spring would bring unwanted attention and annoying wolves in the throws of passion. Biology was a bitch sometimes. He'd, like every year, avoid such antics. He had better things to do. As Holland sat there, pondering, he heard a distinctive snap behind him. He did not so much as flinch, refusing to crane his neck to look behind him. If they were passing through, he'd leave them be. If they decided to chat, there was only so much he could tolerate.