The Sentinels No One Cares Where You Were Yesterday

...Well that's a fairly biting line I'd completely forgotten was in that song. lol.  ;P  *shrug!*
NOTE: Forward-dated to July 2 (at least for right now; possibly subject to change further).

He'd skirted the edge of more occupied lands along the coast, not entirely certain if he wanted company—particularly not if it was going to prove as pushy and unpleasant as some of the other wolves he'd more recently met. Driftwood's paws slowed as he approached the edge of the next unclaimed patch of land, however; his nose twitched and his eyes traveled up and up to the far-off spiked tip of the broken, blackened giant before him. His lips parted slightly in awe, or dismay, or perhaps a little of both, at the sight. He let his gaze fall again to track sideways across the lands, taking in the fallen black brothers of the first enormous tree whih littered the ground all around it. Driftwood stood there for a long, irresolute moment before stepping forth again, head held out before him but low as his senses roamed the bleak landscape about him. He leaned over to give the thing a little sniff, all the while refusing to even think to himself that maybe, just maybe, it might have been Moorhen's paw that had last set foot here...maybe.

With every step he took, he grew more certain that he didn't want to linger long here. But he did want to at least glimpse his beloved ocean again before backtracking to wander off elsewhere. He could smell it, after all, as the wind carried its beckoning salty scent straight to his parched noseleather. He padded slowly up a small rise and stopped, looking out at the waves for a few breaths before settling his rump down and curling his tail protectively around his feet. Drift's golden gaze flickered out over the hellish landscape of the Sentinels before returning again to the far more soothing sight of the gently lapping waves. Bleak and alone, he thought, a lot like him... He took a deep breath and a final look around before preparing to leave this place. But his eyes snagged on a single perfect wolf's print in the ashy loam just beyond him. Driftwood paused with a small frown, wondering who had left such a sign and when—though given that its edges were crisply clear, unblurred by rainfall or other weather, it couldn't have been here too long. He leaned over to give the shape a bit of a sniff, adamantly refusing to think even to himself that maybe, just maybe, it might have been Moorhen's paw that had last set foot here...it wasn't completely impossible after all, was it? After all this time he couldn't help but think that she'd had her fill of him however, or perhaps was still mad about the way he'd reacted to that last loner they'd encountered. Though Drift himself still didn't quite understand what had happened there to make him act so out of character, he didn't think it was quite fair for her to still be holding him responsible for that mess: he just hadn't been able to help himself. Truly!