Since joining Valhalla, Tyr had not ventured from the lands they claimed. Why would he need to? Why would he want to? In the end it wasn't restlessness, or curiosity that drove him to step over the border at the gorge. It was just a nagging worry that he was becoming too dependent on a pack for everything. Too relaxed, too trusting. Someday that trust would be broken, and if he didn't keep his emotional distance he would be worse off than before he'd joined. So he'd taken that first step past the scent markers, then kept walking.
Now he found himself halted at the edge of a ravine. It had come up so suddenly that if he hadn't been going at his usual halting, limping pace when he pushed through the brush right near the edge he might have tumbled right in. He limped his slow way down the thin strip that was clear of brush, until he reached a larger clearing, but he could still not see a decent way around, and he sighed in frustration. He should have chosen a different way. Maybe south to the big water there. There was supposed to be an island near there. He could have swum to it and been alone for a while someplace more pleasant rather than this hot and useless slice in the earth.
He stretched out, still glaring at the ravine, and laid his chin on his crossed forepaws. He couldn't even navigate properly, but he was supposed to be training to be a healer? How many wolves were going to die because he screwed up, before Erani realized she was wrong and kicked him out?
