Shenandoah Pack

It's been a long trek up the mountain. Your fur hangs limp, thick with the morning dew. The sun rising to the east would usually promise warmth and dryness, but up here, the crisp air will remain cool, and the rays will proffer no quick solution to the damp pressure weighing on your pelt. You have no choice but to keep going, to be warmed by locomotion alone.

You pass through a flowery clearing filled with sparkling grass and singing blue birds, then wend your way up a steep grade sprinkled with towering pine trees. Suddenly, you hear a soft, short growl ahead of you. Up on top of a rock, a black and grey wolf sits, staring down at you with eyes the color of hot coals. A dispassionate expression rests on his muzzle.

"'Welcome' to Shenandoah, outsider," he says, his voice ringing clear through the crisp morning air. His greeting held a certain degree of sarcasm. Upon closer inspection, the wolf's eyes look alert and sharp, but somehow weary at the same time. He stands, curling his tail and holding it high.

"I am Ambrose. I've been told to bring you up to Pineshade Hollow." He jerks his snout once toward a series of jagged rocks arranged in a vague path that might lead up to where he is... if you aren't afraid to fall off of the cliffside into the deep-cut ravine that lay on the other side. Ambrose doesn't give you a chance to speak, whether it be in agreement or protest.

"You want to meet our leader, don't you? Try to keep up." With that, the male turns his back on you and lopes off, his paws striking sure and true upon the precarious steps.

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