It had gotten cold rather suddenly. The snow from the previous night was already melting, but that routine wouldn't last long. The winter was coming, and with it, frostier weather and lesser prey. You won't survive the winter, he'd been told. Funny that there was any sort of defiance in him at all, but there it was. He could be fine if he wanted to; he could survive if he wanted. The question of "if he wanted" was very much up in the air, and it had been for a long time. The hybrid would not be so bothered if he froze to death in the coming months, but he had nothing to occupy himself with in the meantime. Maybe it was just instinct taking over -- instinct always dictated those actions that were needed to live -- or maybe it was just another excuse in the end. He decided that it didn't matter because he didn't want or need to justify himself (because you can't). He was gathering wood for the fireplace because there was nothing else to do. That was all.
It was not so hard. He was surrounded by dense forest and good-sized logs were littered all over the place. When the sack over his shoulder filled, he wandered back the way he'd come until he found the cabin again, unloaded the wood inside the living room, then head back out again. The side effect was that he was getting to know his surrounding area better again -- he had known it before, but now he would know it without seeing it. Part of him was annoyed that he was getting along as well as he was. Part of him was laughing. Laruku picked up another log and went back to thinking as much about nothing as he could.