The male had rolled out of his bed early, too early for even the sun to be up. Lips kissed the face of his mate, and he moved slowly as to not wake her. A small bit of restlessness clung to the male like the morning dew, and paws carried him over icy snow, out into the dark winter’s night air and towards the stables. It was not a long walk, and the run on four paws made the time and distance pass with ease. The noise of his charges called to him gently, whispering in their sleep or waking at his approach. Shifting at the stable door of Stark, Heath greeted him with a silent smile and nod. Preparing the stallion for a cool morning ride the Lord worked quickly, his thought drifting from his task only momentarily. Donning the garb that had been left in his old living quarters above in the stable loft the male mounted the horse and rode briskly into the dieing night.
North, the pale horse’s nose was pointed. Heath urged him at a steady pace and passed through the pack’s border before the Sun’s light could crest the treetops. He would stay away from the Crimson Dreams pack, weary of the group as always. Even meeting another from the pack, beyond the female that had kicked him out of the lands, had not changed his mind about them. Heath remembered the beating well, and could not forget that he had deserved it, and so he kept away from the border, mindful of the scents that spoke of another’s homelands.
The pair moved slowly though the brush and undergrowth. Heath even dismounted to guide the stallion over the uneven ground. Ears turned, taking in a rustling so soft that he wasn’t sure if it was simply his imagination or if there was a creature near by. The woods smelt of wolf as well as a lingering hint of coyote, but the unclaimed territory was one between many claimed and it was a common pass through. Hand holding on to the dappled white and gray he slowed to a stop, taking in his surrounding in case he was unknowingly in the company of a hostile.