With every passing day, Lugh grew bolder—particularly after the discovery he and Shiloh had made of a rune within the meadows. Deep inside, he craved that thrill; even the pain of razor-sharp rain was worth it if it meant he could chase that snowbank once more.

It wasn't his first time stepping past the pack's borders, nor would it be his last—it was, however, his first time this far north. The lush meadows faded into frost-laden woodlands. For a moment, he paused. It was almost intimidating how the trees cast deep, dark shadows on the ground. Only now did he realize just how familiar he'd gotten with vast fields.

He could've sworn he heard something in the branches up ahead. A shudder ran down his spine—gods, he wasn't a little baby anymore. It was just some trees—how scary could it be!? An angered huff left Lugh's lungs as he stubbornly pressed on. He could easily turn and go home. That'd be far more comforting—but he wouldn't abandon this crusade for the sake of irrational fears. It was a battle against his instincts and his spite—he would not let his fear win.

The fiery boy emerged from the underbrush and paused. There stood a girl—taller than he, with fur an odd mix of nightfallen blue and warm browns. So he wasn't just hearing things. His lips thinned awkwardly, and he took a short step back.

Hey, wh... he paused, not exactly sure what to say. What're ye doin' here? He cleared his throat, glancing around the woods. He couldn't see anybody else... he couldn't smell anyone else, either. Was she alone? Who're you?

He cleared his throat, remembering something about manners—something Fable had said about making others feel welcome. I-I'm just askin' 'cause my pack is just south o' here. I'm not tryin' t'make ye feel unwelcome or anythin', promise. He stammered, glancing back at the treeline. Hell, he should've just gone home when he could.