Bearclaw Valley we know the way

Fire danced behind his eyelids, filling him with a false warmth as his muzzle remained pointed towards the sky. All around him stood the skeletons of the maple trees, their bare branches dangling far over his head. In his mind, he could still see the fiery colours of their usual appearances, the leaves swaying and twirling with the wind. Yet, when he opened his eyes at last, he was dragged back into reality by the instant sight of their naked forms. Sighing, he tried not to feel too disappointed, reminding himself that he would see them in their glory as soon as the cold was chased away by spring. The self-assurance put him at ease, allowing his eyes to drift downwards, settling instead on the trunks around him; they looked so different when compared to his memories. Shaking his head, he began moving deeper into the woods at a steady pace, searching for the remnants of a long since abandoned hideaway.

As frustration snuck up on him, his memories proving to be unreliable, he came to a sudden stop. Deep within his chest, he harboured a growl, its growth rapid and volume increasing. How could it be so difficult to find something that he had hidden? It had happened years ago, yes, but he couldn’t help but feel like that shouldn’t matter. The longer he stood still, the more irritated with himself he became. Prepared to give it one last shot before he really pushed himself too far, his attention was suddenly captured by a howl. Pausing—and, thankfully, momentarily forgetting that which troubled him—his ears perked up, realising that it had come from the entryway; not to mention that it was unfamiliar to him. There was a trace of gratitude that managed to infiltrate his thoughts as he made his way to the entrance, knowing that he would have done nothing other than ruin the entirety of his day by continuing the search.

Reaching the end of the path, he noticed a wolf that wore a coat of ivory. Larger than the other, Xan remained relatively at ease, though his tail was kept arched over his back. “Who are you and what do you want?” he asked almost immediately, monotone. Although he had never really cared much for the process of exchanging names and that which went along with it, he’d recently started to understand the need for such (un)pleasantries. After all, if someone were to join his pack, he likely wouldn’t come off as an aware leader if he couldn’t even remember the names of his followers—and that he could not allow.