January 23rd; Early afternoon; Freezing fog; -7 ° F, -22 ° C
The fog clung to Rook's coat in a sparse scattering of water drops over his wiry coat. Everywhere he walked, the droplets grew then fell from him into the blanket of snow that had just accumulated from last week's storm. The cold bit at his nose, face and, every so often, the insides of his cheeks whenever he had to urge to let loose a tongue-curling yawn. Ever since that morning he had been on the hunt. Through the cedarwood, he stalked the spaces between the trees in search of a decent place to make a den. Yes, they would always have the medicinal den (where the herbs were cached for future use), but if and when Veho would have a patient, it made no sense for the two of them to share that with another. He had done this for Quil a very long time ago and had had his future sister-in-law nearly crash his hopes for such a union. Though, this time, Rook had every intention to make this spot just as special as the others if not even more so. This was going to be for them and no one was going to spoil it.
Somewhere along Jasper Rocks, he trailed the river before heading straight back into the territory, measuring the steps as he went and minding just how much time it had taken for him to get to and from the pack den, the medical den, to certain spots. Eventually, he shook his head and retreated back to the wilderness beyond the pack lands, letting his legs take him to wherever seemed like a good idea. The trees began to rise up a little taller, their presence unsettling from where they sprung up through what seemed like solid stone in the shadow of the bluff. In a small clearing, he stopped beside an outcrop of rock, the mist concealing and revealing it as the wind hustled the fog along to the north.
A den here wouldn't do with it being so far from Jasper Rocks and the heart of Grizzly Hollow in general, but something had drawn Rook to this very spot. A part of him might have reasoned that it was because this was the very last place he had seen his partner. Another part figured that there was something special about it, even if Rook didn't want to believe it. Staring at the lines in the rock, he idly lifted a paw to feel the cracks against his pads, reminded sorely of the own lines on his muzzle and the shame they represented. Perhaps he was meant to repent here, but to who exactly, he couldn't be quite sure.