Cuan would be the last to admit that he was flagging, now. Months of travel, of energy expended just to stay alive, were taking their toll. The Chanting Chase was a more peaceful spot than the male had come across in days, yet he remained as alert as he could be. The crinkling around his honeyed eyes told of a wolf who had known mirth and joy, but there was no smile marking his muzzle and eyes now. There was, instead, a focus which waned every now and then. Cuan was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything other than putting one paw in front of the other. His body yearned for rest and relaxation, but those were things he couldn’t afford just yet.
He shook himself and scented the air, hoping – but not expecting - that whoever he ran into next would be a friendly face.