Despite his distaste for his sire, his pack instilled in him certain habits which have proven more than useful thus far, even if he is no longer within the protection of a pack itself. He was born a soldier and... it is difficult... to rid himself of that sometimes. He is purposeful in his examination of the trees, though they are so different from the tired, ancient pines of the north; these are rich, fertile trees, thickly canopied and seeming alive in a way that is strange to him. Perhaps it is the trees who are watching him, then, their sentience expressed through each rustle of their leaves.
Pfeh.
The young male snorts quietly, his muzzle twisting into a soft grin.
"Aye, right," he drawls to himself, eyeing one tree at his shoulder with an amused but slightly distrustful air. He pauses in his observation to sit back on his haunches, his hind paw scratching at his belly while his face contorts in to a look of sheer, idiotic pleasure. Satisfied, his pitch black nose flares, drawing in the warmth of the summer air deep in to his lungs, maw parting as he tries to scent out another creature.
He's at it some time before, with little more than a stoic blink, he alights to his paws and begins a measured, trotting gait through the trees, ears erect, head high, on a distinctly heightened alert for possible danger. He didn't think he crossed in to pack lands, not yet, but that doesn't mean another creature isn't nearby.
The thought and feeling of something following him surfaces again and he squirms mid-stride, ears splaying to the sides in a momentary show of discomfort before the male resumes his pace as though nothing happened.
It has been two days, nearly three, since he entered this strange realm of young, fantastical trees, yet as his paws bring him ever southward he notices as they begin to thin. The majority of the bird song is behind him, the scattering of smaller creatures through the undergrowth growing distant. Through the trees ahead he can see the crystal blue sky opening up into... something he's never seen before.
Tyr pauses, one paw lifted, his tail stiff behind him as he examines a vast expanse of tree-less grass, a sight wholly alien to the mountain born wolf. He licks his chops nervously and, for a time, can only stare, and listen to the gentle shush of the grass, and taste the strange smells on his tongue. Cautiously, as if approaching a poisonous snake, he treads into the open, head low as he sweeps it from side to side, wary and distrustful of the newness.
And then a second sight, a further expanse of flowers like he has never seen, painting the field as though the sun were setting blood red in the west,,, They sway and undulate with the wind and their pollen almost begins to overpower his nostrils, causing him to sneeze curiously and pause again in his travels. The dark hued wolf freezes then, out in the open, his senses dulled by flowers, suddenly on alert; has he traveled in to pack lands, did any thing see him, should he keep going, should he turn around?
Questions and indecision reign as Tyr narrows his eyes, thinking...