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For Trent, near Wolf's Peak
The clearing was probably too large, the cover of the trees too far to be of great use to him. But it was all he could find, and the sun would be falling in short time. Alder had been in search of horses, free roaming that he could perhaps capture rather then trade another pack for. His attempt had failed, and he was left without the protect of his packlands for another night. The male had stayed far from the east, away from Inferni and from trouble. His hunting trip there had caused him to be fearful of pack lands besides his own, and Crimson Dreams of course. He would rather hunt a horse then give up a fur for a half trained mount.
His arms carried sticks, thin kindling that would hopefully keep the winter cold from his core. Hawthorn grazed at the edge of the clearing, pushing his large nose through the layer of snow to the still chewable grass beneath it. The world was mild, compared to the feet of snow they had been standing in this time a year ago. He snapped the sticks, arranging them neatly with a hum in his throat. The rider and mount had scouted the land around them, and found no recent sign of another beast. The result would be them spending the night under the small mountainous hill.
In his saddle bag the large Luperci reach for the flint that would start his fire. Beside it lay dried meat, and a small knife. His stomach grumbled for the food, but he was disciplined. His stomach would lead him to a better meal the next day. One he could bring back to the Court. He settled on trying to start the fire, taking his mind off his hunger.
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