For a time, the golden wolf had been acephalous, wandering wherever he willed to drag his sorry broken frame. Now, he had found his anchor in the silver tinted dark lady of the Willows, and he had found his purpose. It pained him to be so far home. But there was something he had to do to finally put his old life to rest. Once and for all, it needed to be done with.

He didn’t know what had drawn him to the orchard of all places, the leaves dancing gold in the gentle breeze, the sweet fruits, now nearing the end of their time littered the ground beneath his aching paws, staining his toes blood red.

Golden eyes roved over the pink leaves of the solitary cherry blossom tree, which no longer stood out as well as they would have in the spring. But it was an easy mark to find no less, and a good indication of just how far he had come. His leg ached from the long trek and his mouth was parched, but that could wait until he next passed water. For now, he would rest beneath the tree, and soon, he would continue on, back to where the creek wolves had been, hoping perhaps to catch the young male he had first met at Bramble Falls before they departed. For he was sure they would not linger much longer at the base of the cursed mountain.