It was all rather strange to see the field from an outsiders perspective. Askan had half-expected to see the rye broken and withered, a sad brown sea that paled in comparison to the field's golden glory days. But no, just as it had been this time last year the grass was long and lush as it swayed gently in the afternoon breeze. The ferns in the distance stood proud and green, whilst the hills in the not so far distance provided a familiar, if not impressive backdrop to the place he'd once called home. Appearance wise, the field hadn't changed one bit. Askan couldn't decide how he felt about that.
All was not as he remembered though. The pack's borders were not as well marked as they used to be, that wasn't to say they were neglected, the scents stale and old. Rather....Askan's nose wrinkled. Was this his pride rearing it's ugly head? Probably. Leadership had changed him in many ways, some for the better, but he was still Askan Selwyn. For better or for worse. Notably though there were a few scents that were unfamiliar to him, he couldn't help but wonder if the same old problems plagued the field. Whether newcomers came and went as they pleased, took what they needed and left without a word, let alone an explanation. Those who remained deserved better than that, even if they hadn't always seen eye to eye Askan cared, in his own grumpy way.
Askan sighed as he curled his toes into the dirt. Months ago he would have strode over the threshold, his shoulders square and gaze level, but too much had changed since then. He no longer belonged, he'd forfeited the right to come and go as he pleased. And so, he tipped his head skyward and let out a call, he made no demands nor did his tone throw the weight of his title around. He was simply...Askan, a-sort of- old friend dropping by. Better late than never, right?