Routine found Rowan easily, almost as if he had never left. With each passing night the shadow wolves of his past became just that - shadows - and when morning light broke they disappeared. Putting his nose to the dirt he was able to drown out his thoughts with duty, placing one paw after another along the borders of Willow Ridge to search for scents and other signs that might be of pertinence. There were rarely any disturbances, but it didn't bother him at all. When the trail got too boring the Attaya would simply lift his leg and leave a stark territorial reminder. It was good for marking the definite borders, but it also reminded him where home was. He wouldn't forget it again.

In an hours time he had made it to the edge of Willow Ridge territory, where the grass and dirt began to turn into stone as Riddle Heights climbed the sky. Rowan looked forward to the part as he would occasionally run in to some prey wandered down the mountain, which he would turn in to stock for the cache or a tasty snack, presuming his stomach was empty. Black nose twitching, he was disappointed to find no such luck today - but there was something curious in the air which warranted looking.

Hot on the trail the boy loped closer to the mountains, his interest piqued. Swinging around a thick tree tunk he found the source of the scent: the skull of an elk laid gently beside a loose pile of stones. The boy narrowed his golden eyes, his gaze sweeping the nearby surroundings. The rest of the skeleton was no where to be found. The skull was large, larger than he'd thought it would be, and the rack that sat upon its crown was plentiful and tall. Rowan tip-toed closer in slight awe. The sheer size of the piece indicated greatness, that perhaps this had been the leader of some herd before whatever death took him (and the rest of his body) away. He pursed his dark lips, thinking. Big or not, death had no qualm taking the elk. Whoever he had been in his past life was no doubt a majestic specimen, but it mattered not now. No matter how impressive, a life is only a life. Anyone could be taken.

No longer held at bay by the idealization of the great Elk leader, Rowan inched closer and perused the skull and antlers with his nose. After a moment Rowan lowered his belly to the cold earth, reaching forward to drag the skull toward his chest. He wondered where the rest of the herd had gone, absent-mindedly gnawing on the corner of an antler, honoring the elk's memory with the marks of his teeth.