The day was young. Lugh had only just left the burrow with his mother—fur still plastered to his lithe, growing frame, tussled by sleep. The boy chuffed quietly, turning his head to lap his tongue over his pelt to wrestle his coat back into a presentable state.

Whatever grogginess weighed down upon his eyelids was lifted the moment he felt the crisp air; it was approaching summer, yet the north was never truly hot. The dawns were still frigid, only accentuated by the coolness of the dew that clung to the grass.

It was a normal day. Clouds hung in the sky, leaving the lush colors of Avon's meadows dreary and muted. A warm exhalation left Lugh's dark lips, curling in the brisk air. Everything was quiet. Annoyingly quiet. Uninteresting.

Quiet, maybe, but there were still scents that permeated through the air—that was interesting enough...at least, for now.

The fiery red boy pranced over the grass, nose twitching like a rabbit's. He'd grown used to the smells of the forest. The critters who rustled about in the forest, occasionally, the larger prey who would saunter past quietly. Lugh's jaws itched with the desire to chase—to track them down and catch them himself...

He was certainly not old enough for that yet. His legs were still thin, lacking muscle. His jaws had yet to harbor the strength to latch onto the hefty limb of an ungulate.

Lugh settled to meander along the treeline. The sun was rising in the east. It'd be more visible, then, perhaps he could hunt something smaller—

That was when the scent finally reached his senses; something unfamiliar. Something unknown. Someone unknown.

A stranger.

The boy's ears flicked forward, angled over his slim visage. Who on earth would be so brave to wander into a pack's territory?

He followed the scent, body low, withers jutting from his long spine. His eyes were wide with anticipation.

A body of white bedecked with an overcoat of browns and blacks like a frost-laden forest. Lugh halted, his tail held high. H-halt. He barked. ...who are ye?

Lugh's lips pursed. Perhaps... not as eloquently spoken as his siblings would've done it—yet, it was seemingly the best that would come from a young boy like him. You're in th' land that belongs t'Avon. His stance was confident yet wary, growing musculature tense beneath the cloak of fire-red fur.