The boy wasn’t incredibly lonely, but he was bored. He was the restless type, constantly needing to move and explore. He craved the excitement and adventure. Holding it all in was driving him mad. He wanted to fight somebody, he wanted to run around and lose himself in the woods. Sure, he could call for Moonshadow or somebody in the pack, but he craved a different type of company. He missed the lone wolves of his travels. He wasn't sure where some of them were, but one of them had to be around, surely? He sighed, disappointment plaguing his mood. He wasn’t so sure of anything.
The boy was spending a bit of time at Fallen Tree Cove, healing from the recent coyote incident, but he still wanted freedom and excitement. He missed Ferreiran, even Crow and Laurel. He missed the chaos. Sulking around the pack borders, the yearling eventually drifted farther out until the stench of pack was gone in the breeze. Then, with little regard for the attention it might draw, he lifted his muzzle into the air and let out a high-pitched, lonely cry.