Pitching A Tent... Not That Kind of Tent

Wyndelin followed the scent of pine as he maneuvered along the mountainside. He moved from tree to tree, searching for sap and signs of injury that he could utilize to get pine resin. He could always damage the bark himself but he'd rather search for an area where the sap was already leaking from the tree. It didn't seem polite to do unnecessary damage to a tree before winter.

Soon he found a pine tree with a pre-existing injury where the sticky sap was leaking from the bark. It looked good and soft and ready for harvest. Wyndelin slipped out from his travois and was about to begin gathering when a pup suddenly appeared. He quickly guessed that the pup was from the nearby pack. "Hi, I'm looking for some pine resin to make pine pitch. It's like a sticky glue. My name is Wyndelin, you're welcome to help me if you want." He pulled out a small ceramic bowl and set it at the base of the tree. Hunting around on the ground he found a small stick and took it in his jaws. Carefully he stuck the stick into the injury and started gathering the sap into his bowl. He had a small fire going in a clearing that would hopefully be burning down to coals by now.