Bearclaw Valley mercury in retrograde

It was uncomfortable to roam in solitude, despite the wolf’s firm isolation towards socializing. His nose was bathed in the odor of pack territory, yet he paid no head to their borders and padded along them like it were any other formation of dirt with turf growing from it - which it was. 

His disrespect to this pack’s land was only out of bitterness for his own. Well, lack of own. He was tossed to the side like a rotten piece of meat and was not over it. The only form of revenge he could commit was obvious lack of courtesy towards groups, no matter the danger this put himself in.

Icy chunks of snow gripped onto his long, agouti fur as if an attempt to stay warm. His nose tinged with numbness, and every step burned his paws. Traveling was tiring, to say the least.