Post-dated to October 10th (tentatively).
A long time ago, a kind and fair wolf had told me that she was going to embark on a journey to a place known as Mosquitobite (or so the place was called in my mind). I haven't seen her in a while but it's hard for me to forget that mysteriously-named Valley with it being called what it is. Having returned from my trek home I've decided to seek out this place and hopefully find her again. But if not... well, then my journeys shall continue as I make my way back to Cercatori d'Arte.
Thus ended the unwritten journal entry. It was late in the evening by the time the coyote reached his destination, and having spent his day dodging anyone who wanted to talk he had managed to arrive before dark. Still, he had cut it awfully close; the sun was beginning to set, bringing down with it the few scraps of warmth that the day had boasted. There was a small breeze blowing about, which barely penetrated Slade's lengthening coat, but nonetheless he could feel that there was a harsh chill to the air.
Slade had no idea what to expect but a passing loner had told him to head east to find his destination. However, nothing stood out to him as he walked along scattered dirt paths. At least if there was a sign somewhere he might be able to decipher the letters, but there seemed to be nothing more than an odd scent around. He stopped walking when he realized that the smell marked the border of a pack's land. Don't tell me I've trespassed....
Fortunately he was far away enough to not be considered a trespasser – or so he hoped – and Slade readied himself to continue on his way. Hm. I never noticed a pack around here before. He shook his head as he began to walk along the boundary, glancing every so often past the invisible lines to see if there was anyone familiar waiting for him, ready to pounce on him and say “Slade, where have you been? I've been waiting for you! Where were you...?”
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