Bearclaw Valley Shot out of a cannon
All Welcome  July 13, 2019, 01:43 PM
Breccan
Lone Wolves

It would have been easy for Breccan to find a place to call home; he had friends, new and old, who were laying claim to various territories in the region. Ibis, Yami, Bat, and Tristan were on his mind briefly as he continued to travel southeast, but they slipped from his attention as he focused on finding Nuna. The land around him was becoming more familiar as he approached Lost Creek Hollow, and he felt a wave of nostalgia when he spotted its trees in the distance.

He put his nose to the ground and began tracking. He didn't come across anything striking for some time, and worked his way gradually through a thicket and a field of wildflowers. There, on the verge of a valley ringed by steep rocky walls, he caught a whiff of his friend's scent. It was faint, but it was apparent, like she had been here for some time before departing. Breccan frowned. He considered picking his way down the uneven path into the heart of the valley, but something told him he wouldn't find Nuna there.

He was stumped, and his consternation was evident in his face as he considered his options.
Yesterday, 03:49 AM
Artyom
Lost Creek Hollow
Recruit
He set off from the Hollow in pursuit of the deer that settled quietly in the Western reaches of the pack's claim, a group he'd watched with silent patience as they rested for a time. Artyom counted a couple of the previous year's young bucks and fourteen does, some with Spring fawns at their flanks, and a proud stag who stood watch over his harem. His study was from a distance but, when the bull roused his family as morning broke, the hunter was sure to keep them in his sights.

Their travels brought Artyom to a valley that unnerved him. The first thing he noted was the singular entrance, something that immediately made his furs prickle. He didn't like feeling trapped, much preferring the shelter of a vast forest over steep cliffs or rockly slopes. The second thing he noticed was the unsettling stench of predator, a musk he knew to belong to a species far more deadly than his own. Still, Artyom was unwilling to let his herd escape without further study; they could be of use to Lost Creek Hollow and its growing pups.

There was no ay out for the deer but the way they'd come, so the golden wolf hung back to follow his nose tooward the nearest water source. As he veered through an open field of wildflowers, his dark gaze found the tawny figure of a young stranger. He took a moment to observe the yearling's quiet contemplation before he offered a soft woof in greeting to accompany the friendly swish of his pale tail.