Nothing had really piqued Woody's interest yet. Then again, he was not even really sure what he was interested in to begin with. Maybe he was not interested in anything at all. How was he supposed to know what interested him or not? Thus far, he had come across a couple of packs, passed several more, and now he was lingering near another one. As usual, he kept himself far enough away not to cause alarm, but close enough to be noticed. Woody was not fond of being chased off... but he was fairly certain he could not count that as an "interest." It was just a thing that he did not like. Maybe he was destined to be a really boring wolf.
Woody had had an itch in his oxter since he had awoken. That was another thing he did not like, and upon his initial inspection, it seemed to be a tick. They were terribly wretched things. Parasites, only able to live off their host. Not only that, but they spread disease like wildfire (another dislike of Woody's). And so, the lone male was presently sprawled awkwardly on the ground, attempting to shove his teeth into his armpit and pull out the bug that clung to him. It was a truly hilarious sight, should anybody happen to come across it, but he did not mind. At least he was doing something (somewhat) useful. And how could they ridicule him for that? It showed he cared enough about himself not to let some tick rub against his arm all day long.