Today Skoll is out attempting to remember where the borders are. The flakes of white are easier to see through this time, a light falling instead of a blizzard. His nose is low to the ground as he traces the exact border lines - something more noticeable now that he's used to the scents of the various wolves of Camhanaich.

He shakes his fur out as he meanders over the lines, and stops dead set when a stranger's form swims in his vision. The wolf isn't anyone he recognizes from the pack. Something about their body-language seems... Off.

Skoll might not be the most experienced or long-lived, but he can definitely tell when something's wrong. He trots close enough for the stranger to hear his quiet voice, far out enough to not be in bite range. This guy looks... young, just like Skoll and Southeast. It doesn't seem like he's got any family nearby, either.

"Hey." He calls out, gently. "Are you lost?"