He started his day heading North, trying to keep far from the markings of the nearby packs, wanting to remain undetected for as long as possible. He roamed until the dense foliage turned into a mass of regal trees, the elevation changing, the old brute panting lightly as he trotted further to gain higher ground, wanting a spot to survey his surroundings. As he progressed the footing became more challenging and he could notice a darkness to the sky in the distance, causing him to pause and scent the air. There seemed to be a wildfire far off in the distance, though the rains over the past week had weakened it considerably and he felt no sense of danger. So the rascal continued upward, humming deeply to himself an indiscernible tune as he jumped up some loose gravel and rocks, avoiding the crags that formed the hill he planned to conquer.
A light rain pattered between the leafy branches of the poplars, ash, and hawthorns and his one good eye strained to see where he placed each step, though as he took his next loose rock slid from beneath him and suddenly he was tumbling back down Round Stone Crest, stopped suddenly by a tree with a shriek of a yelp, everything becoming perilously still.