With his bandage clean and backpack strapped over his good shoulder, he headed toward the east with no particular reason. The close he got to the edge, however, was when he found the scent of salty air and he was drawn to it. He had only been on the coast a couple of times—once a few days back—and felt it was rather relaxing. It was raining, soaking his fur to his skin, and he knew it was not good for the bandanna wrapped around his arm but he could hopefully find shelter in the next little bit. Rain did not hurt him and he had found an herb for pain that he mixed with fresh water and a fresh kill of rabbit and he was set for the next few hours.
Godric huffed softly as he adjusted the backpack and moved along the rocky coast. He had no idea he was heading toward a pack land but he was not concerned about territory. What he was suddenly concerned about was the dark form of a wolf up ahead. His eyes narrowed as he focused on her. She was young, he could tell, and he continued to approach. Normally he would have overlooked her but as the days went on that he spent alone, he was more bitter about the fact he was exiled for something he could not control. To him, it had been petty and he thought there were more to it. He had never considered getting proof that nothing was wrong with him but as he watched her move, it all started to come into place.
He dropped the pack beside a large rock and reached around to jerk the bandanna off his arm and holding it in his other hand. Godric let his ears fall back upon his skull as he approached, lowering any sort of stance he might have in his two legged form and offering a high pitched coyote yip. "Can you help me?" he called to her, lifting the wet bandanna and making sure the gash on his arm was clearly visible.