Dried leaf litter crackled underfoot like dying embers as the wolfdog prowled toward the mountain ranges, moving with the air of one half hunting, half hunted. His pricked ears swiveled like satellites, registering the song of the wilderness, carried along with the fluttering of aspen-leaf. He wetted his lips and breathed quietly, inhaling with each breath the fragrance of a land both familiar and foreign- did it hold memory, or was it all a dream? To his indigo gaze the mountains looked the same, just...Older. Taller. Like a nephew he'd failed to visit, having grown in his absence to become a man.

Sunlight stretched in long, slanted pillars of gold where it could pierce through between the trees- more easily done, now, that Autumn had come. Golden hour came earlier and earlier each day but somehow more glorious now that the trees too bore the gilded hue. Cooler temperatures would summon frost any night now- the full moon approached and with it would come a frost. There was beauty in the change, but like any herald, these little charms came as a warming. Winter would not be far away.

He knew it was coming, and felt a pang of dread heavy within his chest, nestled alongside guilt and grief. He was forced to collect himself, and return to the last place he could recall having had any semblance of structure. Without it, he was as prone to peregrination as a loose balloon; a fit existence for an airhead, of course- but he longed for something else. Something he'd had, once.

He couldn't be sure who he'd find, or if he'd find anyone at all that might remember him. Why not start elsewhere? Because questions of his past might follow him, and he knew his ability to either withhold the truth or bend it was feeble at best. If there was a reckoning to be had for his actions, he might simply have to suffer through it. There was something magnetic about living in fear- and he would follow that urge as if the cardinal point of his own inner compass was drawn to the metal in the blood that had been spilled throughout his life.

Familiarity lingered in the scents in the woods; he knew if he drew too close to its source that he might find himself swiftly overcome. But here, he could dabble his toes in the shallows, safe in the neutral territory beyond a pack's claim...And yet, close enough that they might find him yet.

Skill — Ranger ( 1 of 5 )

There is sparse cover around the Winterscar save for rolling fields of frozen hills. It is a cruel landscape, but Caan has grown stronger in traversing it. He explores north on this day. Taking in the sights of the great wood that barred view of the horizon.

There is trepidation as the boy travels underneath overlapping boughs. The last forest he stood in tried to claim his very life. But the trees here were vibrant and healthy. Their transitional hues a marvel for a boy experiencing his first autumn.

As he wanders, a stranger's scent starts to grow. Another stray. Will this one follow the Saastine like the ravens did? Another scavenger to bow his head for their scraps?

What leftovers a starving wolf salivated over was none of his concern, but free from the judgmental gaze of his kin, Caan devises a small game to entertain himself. Namely he would track the owner of this scent. He held no ill will in hunting the stranger, but if it made him a better hunter, a proper son, then what was the harm?

His nose low to the ground, Caan stalked through the wood.

A pair of partridges burst forth from the dry grasses in restless flight in the distance, bringing Ksura to a halt. His breath hovered in silvery wisps on the air as he took short breaths through his nose. Partridges were fearful creatures, but their flight caused him some concern- until he caught a glimpse of velveteen brown slipping between the tree trunks. A doe and this year's fawn moved, perhaps heading toward a meadow to graze in the waning light. Harmless, he thought. He was tempted to give chase but steadied himself instead- why terrorize the creatures when he'd have little chance?

But he might find where they were headed- and perhaps that might bring him a better opportunity. If the doe chose to bed the fawn down, and rove off to graze, he might find himself with a more likely opportunity. He let them disappear from sight, biding his time, before he moved forward to find their scent trail. With the grass this crisp, he'd have no hope if she heard him coming- he would move at his own pace and trail along, following their scent, making sure he did not give himself away.

Like the deer, he too was followed- and like the deer, he too was oblivious to his pursuer.

Skill — Ranger ( 2 of 5 )

Caan's nose guided him through tall shadows and waning light. His stride an idle trot as he pursued the stranger through the wood. The setting sun brought with it vibrant, golden rays that set the autumn leaves ablaze. The shadows clawed across the forest floor, their shade holding a promise of winter's breath.

The stranger's scent reminds the boy of a forest. A different kind of forest than they one they stalked through, but a forest nonetheless. Distinct enough to not let the quaking aspens and peeling birch trees fool him. The trees shed their leaves to dance in the air, swaying branches allowing a cascade to flutter down to the forest floor. Caan moves carefully over the leaf litter and damp earth. The rustling of leaves or squelching of mud would give himself away.

There were more creatures in this wood than the man he was tracking. Cervid scent weaved through the trunks, and Caan could catch glimpses of wolf and deer tracks in the mud.

If this stranger was hunting for himself, perhaps he wouldn't bother with the Saastine's leftovers. But if he was a capable hunter, would the Sun Clan benefit from having another hunter in the fold? The boy resolved to observe the loner's hunt to see for himself.

He is fortunate that the man is a patient tracker. The deer he followed were keen and he moved as not to alert them. His slower pace allowed Caan to catch up. Positioning himself several yards away, Caan did not speak up as he took in the sight of the greyscale and brown wolf. Perhaps, something almost wolf? The man's muzzle seemed short from where Caan stood.

What would this stranger do next?