Though Askan wouldn't admit it, the journey to Wild Rye Field had taken it's toll. With all of the coyotes roaming the land he'd made a beeline for the Lowlands, barely stopping to catch his breath let alone to rest. He'd got here in one piece, but he knew galloping off back home without resting at least a little wasn't going to happen. Askan was stubborn, more than a little proud, but he was still a realist.
And so after the little conversation at the border drew to a close he found himself walking down a familiar path. The south-western reaches of the field, where they trees overtook the rye, had always been quiet, secluded. Hopefully that hadn't changed, though if it had he supposed he could bite the bullet and sleep somewhere a little closer to the communal den. To his relief, the old den seemed relatively untouched, if not a little worse for wear. The once green foliage that formed the shelter had long since turned brown and brittle, it seemed as though a brisk wind would blow it all away. Askan huffed at the sight, the den was a shadow of it's former glory but it would do in a pinch. Assuming it didn't fall down on top of him.