Fox's Glade the rebel in me will never die

this can be dated to present day if needed. c:

despite how his little venture outside of easthollow's claim might seem — given newt's recent revival from self given exile — his intentions are not to sneak out, or run away. rather its exists as introspection. in the wake of his brother's disappearance and the genesis of the past quakes and now famine that plague his homeland he is left with a lot of questions about self. time that could be better spent than in chosen isolation, leaves him trade-less and uncertain of what would best serve easthollow. all the same, he does not venture far from stone circle.

he knows who he is, even anew. he knows that home and hearth — pack and family — are what he dedicates himself to. but, in what capacity? so, he tries his hand at hunting. food; the easthollow wolves all suffer the rumble of bellies never fully satisfied. there wasn't much, and no large herd tracks either. the fox's glade generates a feeling of isolation with it's sparse spruce trees. imperial gaze studies the path curving thru the spindly limbs and shaking his coat free of thin green pine needles as they fall from the limbs as he brushes between two.

the scent of pine overwhelms his senses and with a twitch of his nose he makes his way towards the stream that cuts thru the heart of the glade, hoping to find some sort of tracks. he assumes by name alone that he might find a fox and some kits — anything that might help to beef up their sparse caches.