Sex: Male- Q, Skyfall (2012)
May 9th; Late morning; Patchy light drizzle; 48 ° F, 9 ° C.
With a first delivery of shredded cedar bark delivered to @Pip's laurel-adorned thicket, Rook had struck out in the afternoon to continue his collection. This time, he would bring some to @Oula. He hadn't even known of the anguish that had happened in either of the dens, but he had hoped that his offerings were graciously accepted when he left them near the dens' entrances (even this, he wasn't aware of; he never stuck around long enough to be a bother to the nursing mothers). Things had been quiet for the most part and, for that, Rook was grateful. Regarding @Veho's return, however... well... he supposed they had to touch base with one another at some point. The Lyall was busy though, he knew he was still bound to the duties that Veho set into place - if only to allow the returned Leader some time to fully rest and acclimate again to the comings and goings of the pack.
Rook traced his steps back to the grove where he had first picked from an ancient cedar, but instead of choosing a nearby tree, he paced a little further. Just as before, he raised his paw and tested his nails against the outer bark of several trees. In some cases he had to sniff at the trunk in a few places, unsure if the rainstorm had dampened the characteristic musky cedar scent or if the bark wasn't usable. The ones he passed over, he made sure to mark, not with urine as a pack wolf might when claiming one's territory, but with just his pads and a nuzzle of his temple against the rough bole. It wasn't a warning, per se, but it at least told other passersby that sometime ago, I was here...
He had just passed by a sizable tree when he stopped and backtracked to look it over. Its bumpy surface was covered with moss. Gathered in clumps, he supposed it would also make for decent nesting material; but, would the old giant give up its cover easily? Rook wasn't so sure. Just to check it out, he leaned forward and pressed his nose into a cluster of the green stuff. It didn't smell funny. If anything, it was soaking wet from the downpour. He shook his ears and neck from the droplets that had collected on his thinning pelt, debating in his head over the value of such a plant and what use it could be for a wolf.