February 9th; Few hours before sunrise; Clear; 25 ° F, -4 ° C.
His romp with Enoki just the other night had been pleasant to some degree. If the Archer had to admit, he was out on this part of the pack's territory to try and provoke the same sort of setting as to invite another nighttime outing. Here and there, for what seemed like hours on end, he waited. He had even cast a few soft barks into the chilled breeze to see if he would be answered by another in the wee hours of the morning. That call never came; and, he had to resign himself in realizing that he was probably going to have to wait for another opportunity. Perhaps tomorrow night he would try again.
In his wanderings, he came to find that his feet had led him back to Sven's birthplace, the small hideaway where he had once tucked Piety away from the world and the rest of the family. The vines were dry and barren, looking more like a tangle of spindly twigs as they snaked up and around the side of the rogue, non-willow tree. Frost clung to it and had even piled up in the entrance atop the bed of leaf litter the lined the floor of the thicket den, seemingly emphasizing just how lonely it had been since she left.
Skoll took a deep breath, craning his head down and prodding at withered ivy vines to find that no one had visited the place in quite a while apart from him and his son. His paws crunching through the snow were the only tracks the site had seen recently, though and he walked around the tree twice as if the circle he just made would forever protect the little sanctuary. Then, once through, he sat down to face the triangular entrance, staring into the darkness as he had just seasons before, staring at nothing but the emptiness where his family had once been.