He had promised himself to not go where he would be unwelcome. Yet here he stood in the mouth of the caverns. There were no familiar scents. Everything was stale and old, nothing worthwhile. It was a relief in a sick kind of way. There was no one hear to eat his face or yell at him for past mistakes. Regardless there still was an unnerving anxiety that something bad would happen if he stayed around much longer.
The large male wanted to be strong and face that anxiety - poke his head around to see if it was really as dead as it seemed. What would he gain from that, though? A piece of a long gone ego? He didn't need that. So he turned around and began to walk off.
Deacon knew he needed to start heading north far away from the south. Maybe he'd even go back east to lands he hadn't seen much of. Anything to get out of his ghost-like wandering.