Ghastly Woods Will history repeat itself?

No doubt the small female would have had an incredulous look on her face, but where Merys was able to handle camping out a storm with one female before - granted she hadn't been a damsel in distress - he was not mentally prepared to do it again. He had nothing compelling him to stay and make small talk with the hurt woman, and he was convinced that if she was hurt and had a pack, she would have not been too far from home and a quick howl could get her any aid she needed quickly. It was not out of character for him to be short with others, especially those he deemed harmless. She was under a rock; he owed her nothing. She served him no purpose, and vice versa. His exit was completely warranted in his mind.

He was certain he would never make it to an advisor's position; he was just not personable or heuristic enough to make it out to other pack's to socialize and make friends. In fact, it would not be surprising if most packs ended up disliking White Fir Notch if he was their representative. He laughed at that thought for a moment, though it was lost in the howling wind and his tucked chin to his chest. His regard for Mother Nature was going blind, much like his eyes, and a stubborn darkness warmed his insides enough to push him forward. Annoyance for the situation that he had been in was only mildly less for the one he had opted for, but at least this one was self-inflicted and self-directed. He tucked his body close to cover as much as possible as he darted back and forth through the storm, White Fir Notch in his sights. 

founding member | 2016