Pennyroyal was not meant to be a hero. He didn't enjoy the thrill of adventure, the helplessness of being away from his pack and family, the assumed danger of his task, the pressure of doing it correctly and quickly. He'd dragged Verbena into this, too, but another part of him felt bad he hadn't roused the others properly -- were his Ma and Pa doing okay, had they worried much? He knew his Dad was a good enough tracker to have caught up to them by now, so perhaps he trusted Benny to keep them both safe while they followed the High Priestess' bidding.

Maybe they thought the kids had gone after Uncle Spider to stay with Avon.

Penny missed Pinesprings the most.

He did not miss dodging Nemean's daily lessons, though he was certainly wishing he'd grasped more of them. He was reliant entirely on his littermate to hunt and protect them both, to steer them back home when the time came. He was reminded day after day how thankful he was she'd heard his scrambled goodbye and followed after his manic persistence.
The forest(s) had been neat, but otherwise uneventful, but Penny did decide he liked the closed in, safe feeling of being concealed within the treeline compared to the open, vulnerable one he got in large meadows. He felt like he was a prey animal instead of a wolf, like his brain was stuck in the flight part of fight-or-flight.

Always.

Those feelings were quickly replaced with something Pennyroyal couldn't identify as he trotted out into the range; ears pinning, tail rising above his hips for the first time ever in his life, muzzle wrinkling into a scowl. It wasn't proper confidence, but as his manic pace continued, he felt...

Cold.

Barbed.

Sharp around edges he didn't have.

The almost-yearling swallowed, heartbeat thrumming in his temples as he fought for slow, deep breaths. Was it the dark? The quiet? Penny was intimate with fear, and this was far from it -- as if he was daring something to try even though he was fully aware he couldn't fight a mouse.

His pace increased to a run.