This was by far the strongest pull that Pax had felt from the voices in a very long time. Southeast, they called ominously. Though for what, he couldn't be sure. It hadn't taken him long to reach the creek, and he found that he rather liked it there. He was surrounded by trees, but not enough of the undergrowth to suffocate him like the brush in Secret Woodlands did. And the water, he found, was sweet and cold and fresh, probably due to the fact it was running. It soothed his parched throat, chasing away some of the fatigue he had developed over the day or so travel over open ground to reach this place.
The vessel had been about to give up hope of this being the place the voices wanted him, and head off in either the Woodland's direction or a bit further south, when he caught an odd little smell. Like a bunch of trees and char and delicious young blood.
A smirk played out over the ghostly wolf's lips as he crept after the scent.