The forest outside of Bellhollow consists mainly of tall, coniferous trees. Spruce and fir reach into the sky, their branches spread wide to create canopy over the forest floor. Pine needles coat the ground, making the earth soft and muffling the tread of any who would stroll here. Squirrels and chipmunks dark among branches and tree roots, their cheeks filled to capacity with as much food as they can stuff in their little mouths. Even still, they take the time to flick their tails and chatter at intruders, alert to any danger that they may bring. The sound of woodpeckers echoes among the branches, like nature's very own gunfire... tatatatatatatatat! Tatatatatatatatat!

For those who venture further in, who brave the darker parts of the forest, there is a hidden treasure. Tucked back in a wee valley, nestled between boulders, there is a waterfall that cascades down into a clear pool before continuing onward into a small series of rapids. The water here is cold and invigorating, refreshing to any who may decide to take a quick dip.

Getting to the edge of town, George uses the darkness to hide that hes stripping down completely.

"Better" Shaking, a stub of tail unfurls and lengthens. Tucking his clothes away to retrieve later, he drops to all fours and trots into the forest, body flowing to fit the chosen gait.

Quickly he's off the tracks, and into the broken darkness of the forest.

The pine needles are soft and quiet beneath his paws as he pads along, nose and ears alert to all the forest has to offer. Somewhere, an owl hoots forlornly. There are the crackles and pops of night creatures moving about in the trees and the flap of bat wings overhead, as they hunt for insects. People who write about how quiet the night is have obviously never actually spent an evening in the forest! It's quite alive and active, with all sorts of creatures.

It's not long before George becomes aware that he is not the only one in the forest. The night winds carry the jubilant howls of others, their voices echoing in eerie beauty among the fir trees. He can hear at least three others, noting the distinctiveness of their tone and timbre. But, if this is a pack, there may be more who are simply more reserved and have not given voice to the evening.

Stopping to listen, George tries to make out any message is the voices.
Nothing for him. No familiar pack calls. Just strangers.

His wolfish instincts drive him to quietness, to avoid the Family that roam the spaces around here. Wishing his Family was around, he eventually turns and heads away from the call and response howling.
At least he can perform the moon hunt, even as a pack on one.

He whines a tiny bit, initially, but soon the drive of seeking prey takes over, and he is caught up on the trail of some deer.

It wasn't long before George picked up the trail of a deer and merrily set off after it, his nose filled with its scent, his ears perked for the crunch of hooves on earth and leaves. Unfortunately, the deer in the area were already aware of the wolves that roamed the forest this night and proved to be elusive. Here and there, George caught the huff and snort of a buck, followed by the sound of hooves dashing further into the woods, twigs cracking in the wake of a small herd fleeing these intelligent predators.

However, after about an hour of running and hunting, another scent caught George's attention. It was familiar and, yet, strange. Wolf... but not of his pack. Lifting his shaggy head and scanning the area, he spotted a silver fur in caught in a beam of moonlight. A large, female wolf trotted into view and stopped, ears perked towards him. She tilted her head in curiosity, watching him.

Oh!

Lifting his snout to catch her scent, he holds ears forward to hers, tail not so high as to indicate aggression. Enough to show interest and not submission though.

Trotting to the side, he pees in a patch of snow, and skips back politely, not turning his back on her.

She watches him. Then, after a long moments unblinking consideration, she walks over to the scent patch and takes in the content. Turning, she makes her own scent commentary, and walks back to her original patch.

George politely waits, then scents her reply.

Its seems no one wants a fight for space, or power. Not a lot of stress or anxiety, well..perhaps a little from his spot.  Enough to let her know hes not looking to encroach on territory.

Yelping happily once, he greets her properly, now the formalities of introduction and exchange of intentions are over.
She takes the invitation, and walks confidently over to sniff and inspect more closely.

As she does, a scarred older male stalks out of the tree shadows. Head low, his posture not happy with the intruder, a small growl escapes him.
Both ignore the grumbling of the old man, as wolfish small talk is performed.

Aggravated by the Energies of the Moon festival being celebrated by the arcane and mystic denizens of the city of Bellhollow, The Large Wolf rumbles unpleasantly.
His teeth lengthen as his shoulders start coiling and lengthening while he steps forward to make his point known.

With a sharp twist and snarl, the Smaller, but obviously more in control, the Silver coated wolf snaps at the old males snout in annoyance. With a start and a glare the angry beast shrugs and ripples his muscles back into normal wolf shape again. grunting He walks over, all stiff legs over. Pisses on the scent messages, kicks dirt on them, and stalks off into the trees.

Watching the disgruntled old wolf leave, George doesn't notice the Silver Wolfs eyes light up in amusement at something behind him.

Suddenly theres a joyful yip behind him just before there a sharp nip at his tail.

"Yelp!"

Jumping around on his toes he spies a young bouncing wolf, leggy, and grinning. The youngster barks joyfully again.

Glancing at The Silver Leader, and seeing no concern, George turns back to the youngster and dances sideways towards the pup, and begins to play Nip Tail. After a few moments she joins in, and laughing barks soon fill the moonlight clearing.