There had definitely been some pros and cons on his trek to the river this morning. Pro: Hawthorne had gotten out of Spirane for a bit, which was always nice. He was always up for a bit of an adventure, and the Aplos Riverside was wonderfully convenient for such things--far enough away for a change of scenery, but close enough to home that his mother need not worry herself too much. Con: his winter coat had already grown in, but the weather showed no sign of breaking any time soon. With all his new fluff, it was mercilessly hot anywhere near the base of the mountain, let alone in the valleys and lowlands outside Spirane. Last year, it hadn’t been so bad, but then his puppy fluff hadn’t amounted to much, either. Almost in his second winter, it felt like he was carrying around another wolf’s fur on top of his own. His mother assured him it was normal, that it was a growing pain of sorts and just needed to sort itself out, but Hawthorne wasn’t so sure. What could be normal about sprouting an extra five pounds of fur when the weather was still warm? Pro: the water had been blissfully cool.

The young wolf’s sandy tan and chocolate brown paws were splattered with a healthy dose of cool mud as he jogged back home, his early winter coat plastered untidily to his rangy frame and still dripping from his recent swim. As pleasantly cool as the water and mud combo was, Hawthorne’s mouth hung agape, tongue spilling out the side as he panted steadily. The small relief that it was to be wet, all that fur was a bit suffocating, and the boy rued the idea of drying off before he climbed his way above the treeline. Still, it was best to stop by the den and check in with his mother and maybe pick up Thistle on his way up the mountain.

Hawthorne passed through the autumnal landscape like a cluster of wet leaves on the wind, sand and brown patchwork coat painting him into the scene with near flawless concealment. Beating the familiar homebound path, the boy eventually crossed over Spirane’s pack boundary. Still in the foothills of the mountains, the pathway was an easy slope through the shade of towering trees, but it eventually crossed through a clearing, and it was there at the edge that the boy came to a sudden stop.

Pale green eyes swept over an unfamiliar figure sitting at the center of the small glade, her pale fur all but glowing in stark contrast to the earthy autumn scene. Had Hawthorne been of proper hearing, he might have caught the wolf’s call as it rang out down by the river. But the boy had been a little hard of hearing since birth, and so this was very much a random happenstance as far as he was aware. Hopefully it would be a pleasant one at that.

“Hello?” The boy’s gentle tone was soft, but, in the confines of the small space, it seemed to fit just right. With an air of caution about his lanky body, Hawthorne ventured to take a couple steps closer, his head tilting slightly off camber as he continued to appraise the stranger. “Can… Can I help you, miss?”