The day had come, the beginnings of the herd’s migration. He’d watched from the hilltop as they’d one by one began to trickle northward like a babbling brook. The air was alight with moos and bugles from them as they began to move and he was quick to his paws, turning and taking off at a lope toward the area they’d deemed to be their little nesting spot, where’d they’d been convening every night. They’d slowly gotten more and more comfortable with each other, growing closer in their distance until they found themselves frequently smooshed together in a pile of warm fur. He found himself throwing elbows in the mornings to push a snoring wolf off of him so he could rise, shaking off the snow from his pelt that had fallen in the night. It was a nice, albeit slightly annoying, routine.
Once he reached the clearing he tilted his head back, releasing a howl into the air for their little band to reconvene. It was time to get a move on before their meal source left without them. It would feel good to explore a new place and get their legs really moving.