The Arctic wolves back up in the North had told him to travel south, and he would find lands of great woodland and greater mystery. He noticed the greenery poking out of the dirt, the canyon's walls widening and sucking in warm air - well, warm to him, considering that he had traveled through the harsh winter in the North, having departed from his home last fall. He welcomed the fresh, green scent, filling his lungs with it and exhaling, glad to see that his breath was no longer a fine mist. Tired as he was, he picked up his pace, excitement coursing through him. He was almost there.
The granite walls of the pass crumbled into conglomerate piles of rock, earth and plant growing over as he finally emerged. Here, the land was green, flourishing in the spring. Birds he had never seen before twittered in the canopy, the trees mixed and old, but still thriving. His dirt path ended and the ground was matted with decayed plant matter, adding a slight bounce to his stride. Vines tangled in the brush, and he made a note to himself to keep an eye out for large snakes, but he wasn't sure if there even were any this far north. Still, he was not familiar with the area, so he would at least take the knowledge he had and apply it. Better to be safe than sorry.
A babbling brook drew him near. He came upon the shallow, muddy banks, pausing before he drank. Pale eyes scanned the surrounding area, from the copper-hued rocks to the ash trees on the other side of the stream, cautious. He didn't smell a pack when he came in, but he had had many run-ins with unpleasant wolves when he had been traveling in the North. Content, he drank from the stream, the cold water filling him for what it could. He would still need to hunt, though. He would need to eventually find a pack as well... This was just the beginning of the forest. He had the feeling that if he went in further without guidance, he would become lost.