Afternoon, Fog, 53 ° F, 12 ° C
He trudged through the woodlands with a disgusted look on his face. This place was too damp and crowded with overly tall trees. The stench of a pack was nearby but he did well to avoid it. Saros was always ready to face conflict head-on when necessary but if he could avoid it he would. He was confident, not stupid.
The large yearling avoided touching the trees and their rough bark. He wanted no one to trail after him once he was gone. Saros had left home with every intent to disappear. The last thing he needed was siblings or relatives chasing after him to blabber about some ghosts. Those damn ghosts and mushrooms. This was all their fault. They had spoken of some vague demise and he had been stupid, only for a split moment mind you, to believe them. Yet it was not his spoken demise that had driven him away. It was the crushing realization that those ghosts were phony that drove him away. He was not going to linger around a bunch of mushroom-eating-ghost-seeing wolves for any longer.
He only halted his stomping path to soothe a scratch behind his ear. Hind leg lifted as he skillfully used it to scratch away at the persistent itch. Gods above he hoped he didn't have fleas.
Saros is currently going under the alias Big Buzzard or Buzzard - thanks to a name given by Namir