The creature has been alone now for years. It has lost the ability to understand the importance of pack and family. It only know the ability to survive, to hunt, to kill.
It sits on a hill overlooking a valley of wild grasses, wild flowers, small things, and many holes. It could see a prairie dog lounging in the sun, taking advantage of the warmth before winter reigned this part of the world. In the distance, it could see mountains, peaks, already white, high in the sky. Just beyond those mountains, lay the forest the creature was born, vast and plentiful. It's family was there, not that it had any inclination to see said family.
But something was pulling the creature home, back to where life had been hard but full of memories: memories it tried to escape. Memories of running from larger creatures, of always on the move, of always being afraid and alert. Memories of fights, laughter, cries, and death. Memories!
