Sven's paws hit the ground. The verdant grass beneath them no longer burned and prickled against his pads. Instead the blades were soft, verdant, familiar. His ragged, scarred throat raised into the warm summer breeze as the wolf breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the willows, the rise, the herds and his family. Ravenna and Enoki, Niccolo and the soft breath of new life. He had feared they would all be gone, that he'd return to nothing but ruins, reminiscent of the ones he'd always explored on the mountain's peaks. It seemed instead, they were just as he left them, and that was immensely comforting to the man.
Had he not recovered from the crippling insecurities of his childhood, he might've taken this as a sign that the pack was not just functional without him, but better off. Perhaps he would've returned to his father in the south with his tail between his legs, or sought comfort at @Sahalie's heels. Now? He could feel nothing but pride, and gratitude to those who dwelled amongst the long boughs of the forest that had defined his life. It took all of his strength to not cross those clear markers, to walk right back into his home as though nothing had changed.
Hopefully, he would have the blessing to do so. The scars that littered his massive frame would be testament to the veracity of his claims, the reason why he had so suddenly vanished from them when they'd needed him most. But guilt still festered within, and he would understand if he was met with anger and blame all the same. Whatever it was awaiting him on the other side of that musk boundary, he was eager for it regardless.
Further and further his head tipped back, the song tunneling with strength and clarity through the air as he called out to the wolves of Willow Ridge; I am home.