Cedar Loch
The air is humid and your fur clings to your back uncomfortably.
It seems your weary paws have led you to a grove of cedar bordering an inlet of brackish water. A foreign pack has resided among this thicket for five years, originally a band of outcasts led by a low-born white wolf. You've strolled right into their paws. Though they seem cautious of an unfamiliar face, they've been nothing but diplomatic towards you thus far.
welcome
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