"Stay with This One, Lady Clio." The newcomer kept his voice low, unsure of the scents that hit him a few moments ago. In his youth he may have taken the obvious presence of wolf-scent as a warning to steer clear. To cross a boundary was foolish and brazen, both of which he never claimed to be. One would have paused to howl a greeting under the blessing of Lord Lyacor. Should have, even, as to not invoke the Lord of Alphas was taboo. But that was another time, and in another place. He'd been wandering for half a year now. He had explored the span of upper Montana, where he'd been born so many years ago, and had crossed into Canada perhaps a month or two ago. The old wolf couldn't be sure if the wolves here knew of The First Seven.
There was a time in his life where disbelief was unheard of. Up until recently, he thought everywolf knew of the ones who walked before mortal paws touched the ground. Absyla-something for his mind is a forgetful one, had taken him by surprise when she was unable to name even one of the seven divines. He could feel her stare harden as he had looked on in shock, unable to speak for a few moments until she cleared her throat. That was his first hint that what he'd been taught could be incorrect. It had taken a few nights of restless sleep before he was able to come to terms with himself. Even so, though he was almost sure the wolves here would be as ignorant as the rogue, he wanted to believe. He held onto his Divines.
But with that knowledge plaguing the old one's thoughts, he continued on silently across the field. The Grey stepped with caution up to blackberry bush that spread several feet in diameter and was heavily overgrown in some places. His nostrils pulled in a few muffled scents; ungulates, rabbits, and a faint odor of bear. Indeed, the air around him seemed as fresh as unclaimed territory and truth be told, he couldn't remember actually passing a marked border. Perhaps Lord Lyacor was being kind this night. The stranger straightened his back, no longer afraid of being unwelcome and took a seat by one particularly unkempt bit of brush, using it as a comfort until he could either find a den or dig one of his own somewhere in this lovely place. For, to be honest, he was so tired of walking.