Deepwood Weald Where's North?

The trees shivered in the winter air, longing for the sunlight of morning to take them over once again. A slight breeze whisked through the branches, stirring the many scents of the forest towards the resting body of a sturdy brute. Bastien lapped at the cold water before him, ears lifted slightly to filter out the sounds of the night. Ever cautious he wasn't in a familiar location and every noise meant safety. If there was anything the loner knew it was that silence was the sound one only heard before death.

He could hear a small, four legged creature darting around the brush to his left. If he had not just had his game he would be all over it. The water stiffly trickled from the small stream, hugging the frosty rocks as it ran. Every so often an owl hooted and with a heavy flap of its wings would ascend into the night sky.

Once he had had his fill of water, Bastien lifted his muzzle and sat on his haunch, slowly anchoring himself down for the night near the stump of a dead tree. With a quick stretch he lay down, licking the top of his right paw. The sounds of the night would sooth him to sleep...

He lifted his head, ears perking up at an odd sound of distressed flapping. A change in the usual sounds of the darkness brought his eyes to a small bird thumping tired legs onto a branch. Bastien cocked his head and stared curiously. With a small scoff he crossed his legs in front of him and lay his under chin down.

"Never knew flying was so taxing. You guys make it seem so easy..." he laughed in a playful voice.