Post by skinner on Sept 8, 2012 10:32:08 GMT -5
It had been quite some time since the salt and peppered male had sensed another wolf. Over a year, at least. His nose twitched with the scent of an unfamiliar pack, and the aroma was growing stronger. He was headed in their direction, but his paws were more eager than the rest of him. His head thought bitterly toward unknown pack wolves. He was not optimistic about this, but the quickest way to continue his current direction would be through the mountains. Accordingly, he was bothered with the unfortunate need of asking permission to pass through the pack's territory.
Skinner's large figure loped gracefully down the side of a steep hill. His paws lost footing closer to the bottom, where a few small rocks gave way under his weight. He stumbled only slightly, and caught himself on his next step. He had been born in a mountain's cave, and he usually knew his way around cliffs and the like, but during his travels he had seen mostly flattened plains, gently rolling forests, and small hills. He hadn't been through the tough rocks, chilly climate, and elevated sights that he was used to in a while. He thought about his homeland fondly, and how these wolves were lucky to have a place similar to it.
Skinner's pace began to slow as he reached the base of the mountain. He was, perhaps, a mile into the pack's territory now. Their scent was stronger here than from the top of the hill. Skinner glanced back from where he had been moments ago. He considered going back. He really was not interested in meeting these wolves. He could do fine on his own. Maybe there was a way to go around the pack lands? He could find shelter and food in the chilly mountains. He attempted to convince himself he didn't need to be here.
He turned around and faced the evergreen forest ahead of him. Afternoon sunlight peaked through the forest, and dappled the needle flooded ground where it could. He sensed it had rained not too long ago. The dampness still hung in the air, but the ground was mostly solid. His nostrils filled with the familiar scent of pine and rain, then the wolves. There was a small breeze. It was barely enough to move the tips of his coat, but it was pleasant all the same.
Skinner had come such a long way. As he gazed into the forest that reminded him of home, it seemed a shame to turn around and head back...
Feeling bitter about what he was about to do, Skinner took a breath, raised his head, and howled. His voice was deep and rugged. The howl was low, crescendo-ed as it grew to a medium tone, then slowly rescinded back into the depths of his throat.
The wolf did not sit, but waited stiffly for one of the pack wolves to answer his call.