He hadn't ceased being angry for a long time now. Those large paws he'd only just recently grown into carried him across the snow-coated earth with a heated determination to find some way to vent the steam within him. Leaving with mum was supposed to do it. Leaving her to get away from the memory of Ophelia was meant to end it. Coming back to the Hollow was supposed to turn back time and take him to when things had been, at the least, okay. No matter where he turned, however, everything insisted on disappointing him. Well, he was fed up with that. If he couldn't trust the familiar, he'd just have to forge ahead and take what he wanted from life.
So he had travelled arbitrarily East, toward the mountain range that had always piqued his curiosity, and that was how he came upon the Draw. His nose set to work, siphoning in the air greedily. The boy had never learned about other packs, but he didn't see why any wouldn't do. Roland didn't know he was meant to knock, didn't consider that he would actually have to prove himself an asset to these strangers. Wolves were here, and he belonged with his kind. All he had to do was introduce himself, right?
His long strides took him deeper into the pack's territory without hesitation, his gold eyes seeking out the frames of any of the strange forest's inhabitants so that he could wave them down and let them know he would be joining them.