Redhawk Caldera Words don't make the rain go

The Caldera had once been his home, but within the pack's territories were the empty homes that had once belonged to wolves who no longer called the Caldera home. Wolves that had died, or moved on. He visited those places, and felt slightly satisfied to see those unclaimed dens neglected and empty. It was like checking under the bed, just to make sure that there were no monsters there. 

He made his way toward the lake, which was where he'd spent much of his time recovering the last time he'd returned to the Caldera, weak and wounded. It was how he remembered it, peaceful and quiet. A heron waded in the shallows, looking for a fish to catch. It eyed him for a moment, but didn't pay him much mind as he ambled along the shore. He was more keen on scanning the soft, wet earth to see who had visited recently, and collect those scents, whether they belonged to prey or packmates.