Redhawk Caldera He's just a different kind of kid

The crisp scent of autumn accompanied the shrinking daylight hours. As Bronco roamed along the lake's edge during the golden hour, he tried to pick apart what it was that made fall smell the way it did- and couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was. Perhaps the musty smell of leaves, but for some reason, a small part of his brain was convinced it had something to do with the temperature, even though his rational self thought temperature couldn't have a smell. 

But there was nothing extraordinary for him to smell here. Not this far away from the borders, anyway; he still preferred to remain well within the pack's claimed borders, hunting and making note of the animals that visited the lake on a daily basis. It wasn't an exciting life- but it was better than the alternative, and he'd become complacent with the job he'd given himself as it came with very few risks. If all he had to worry about was whether or not temperature had a smell, it couldn't be that bad of a lifestyle.