Wounded Pride and an Empty Stomach

Askan's stomach rumbled as he waded through the knee-deep snow, with an ever present grimace tugging at his lips. Despite how much of a mess he'd made of his life he couldn't say that he'd taken a shining to being a loner just yet. In the heat of the moment, with fire blazing in his eyes, it had been easy to proclaim that he'd go it alone, that he didn't need his family. But now that he was cold and hungry, well yeah... He'd rather munch on his tail than admit he'd been too rash but... Well, he wasn't going to finish that train of thought, the tracks ended right there.

Had he been younger Askan would have no doubt been tempted to scale the trees, to scurry along like an overweight squirrel, but now he simply regarded them with a dismissive glance. In all honestly he hadn't really been keeping a track of where he was going, or how long he'd been on his paws. The days and months all melded together into a hazy, and rather unpleasant blur. At this point he wasn't even sure what he wanted anymore, he'd left his homeland and that was all well and dandy, but now his mind was drawing a blank. What else was there? Was the world even ready for him; for his iffy temperament and horrendous social skills? Probably not.