The shadow prince hardly spent any time within his pack’s borders anymore. He was constantly out and about, exploring the territories that bordered their own and scouting for those who were unwelcome, as well as a potential new home for the shadow. While he adored both his family and his home, it was feeling less and less like home as winter dragged on. As he grew older, it had lost its luster—it was no longer the remarkable place it had been when he was a child. He found himself constantly searching for something more; something greater. There was one place he was particularly fond of—which was the complete opposite of the trees the Ridge wolves dwelled in—that he was considering for a future home once the frigid grasp of winter loosened.

Sulking around the pack dens, the shadow glanced around nervously as he attempted t avoid the attention of others lingering nearby. Greer was fond of most of his pack mates—especially since the majority of them were family members—but there were also a few wolves he had not yet gotten a chance to meet. He couldn’t help if there was any point to getting acquainted with the newcomers, especially with being so intent on leaving so soon. He still had to discuss his departure with his mother, as well… The thought immediately caused a grimace to appear on his maw as he weaved around the trees. It was a conversation that needed to happen, but not one he was so keen on having. He knew—hoped—that she would understand; she had always been aware of the wanderlust that consumed him, and seemed to empathize with him the most.

It was strange spending so much time in the Ridge territory. Greer had been so absent lately that it almost felt foreign… 

The snow was more of an inconvenience than anything. It was cold and damp and irritating—and it had nearly claimed his life last winter. It also made it near impossible for the yearling to slink around in the shadows, his obsidian pelt sticking out against the stark snow. It crunched beneath his paws, disturbing the silence he preferred. Ugh.

There was a grimace etched across his maw as he continued his pursuit through the willows. It was silence that he was looking for but it was proving difficult to find, leaving the shadow feeling restless. He winced as his paws crashed through the snow, disturbing the quiet that had engulfed the land. The one good thing about snow was that it muted everything; the world’s volume was dialled down and he was able to enjoy the silence a little better. It was still cold, and gross, and Greer wanted nothing to do with it.

The scent of another came as a surprise; Greer had not expected another pack member to be up so late. His frown only deepened as he continued maneuvering through the trees, his silver eyes focused on the path before him. From what he could tell, the scent belonged to one of the newer members he had smelled around camp and had not yet encountered. As the scent grew stronger a voice called out, questioning the yearling on why he was out of bed. The prince scoffed at the comment, his long legs rigid as he paused his movements, mercury gaze hardening as he sought out the fiery eyed stranger. Clearly this newcomer was not aware of who he was. More than anything, Greer wanted to walk away from the stranger and forget about the comment, but his deer-like legs refused to budge. “Shouldn’t you?” He retorted coolly, his lips curled into a sneer as his broken speech was (temporarily) absent.

Just as the comment fell from his tongue another approached, her silver coat illuminated in the moonlight. The frown remained painted across his maw as he took several steps back, distancing himself from both wolves. He inhaled deeply, grey pools focused on the female—another newcomer; this one he was less familiar with, her scent was much fresher. Great, he thought to himself as he mentally rolled his eyes. One was bad enough, but now two? Nope. Ignoring her comment, the boy flashed his icy gaze onto the obsidian male as he waited for a response, his body statuesque as snowflakes landed on his back.

This was the problem with his young age—when he was silent, or curt, he was deemed angsty or troubled. Those older than him often looked down upon him for his quiet demeanour and did not understand his broken speech. Their opinions mattered little to the prince. He was not concerned with how they felt about him; the only opinions that mattered to him belonged to his mother and the two girls who had made an impact on him.

These wolves in his proximity did not seem to care that he was coming on his second year or that he was of Archer blood. He could see it in their eyes—as though some little inside joke was being passed between them. Their leering, mocking gazes; amusement dripped from their maws, staining the air between them. How did such specimens weasel their way into Willow Ridge? Grinding his teeth together, his silver gaze moved between the two wolves as he kept his distance. The male’s words filled the air with an explanation as to why he was out lurking in the darkness. Greer’s was simple: he was born from the darkness and allowed it to consume him. He did not fear it; he welcomed it.

The obsidian wolf introduced himself first—Wraith—and apologized for his previous words. The apology, while unnecessary, was appreciated. Greer gave a short, sharp nod in response as the end of his tail curled. “Greer,” he gave quickly once Hestia gave her name. He offered nothing else—the ball was in their court, and Greer wanted nothing to do with it.