The morning sun’s rays cast their heavenly flares down towards the earth. Chilled by the oncoming season of wintertide, the landscape, bathed in the dawn’s light, comprised of frost-licked plants and naked trees. On normal daybreaks like these, one’s nose would be greeted by a frigid crispness, along with the faint incense of the ocean’s salt; though todays flavour was different. A pungency of hopelessness stained the customarily-clean air. For an individual to track the hypothetical scent, the scene they’d come across would surely perturb them. Neath a shadow of some barren trees, evidence alluding to a scuffle of sorts could be spotted - a shred or three of fur, a few droplets of blood painting a lone patch of snow, and a disturbed stretch in the ground. Here, the unique stench of Wendell could be inhaled (the one-of-a-kind mustelid smell, with a little blackberry zest); and his Pittian captor, his stink could be smelled as well.

A detective was not needed to deduce that the wolverine was long-gone. For one, he was nowhere to be found in the scope of Sunhaven’s territory, and secondly, the mammals’ odours were both too faint to track.

Wherever he was, he’d return a changed man.

If he returned, that is.