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.