[b][u]
Canada
British Columbia
Somewhere Deliberately Isolated[/u][/b]

The wilds weren't peaceful, that's not why he sought them. That was a myth propegated by romantics who had never had to experience it beyond the idyllics of their imagination. The wilds were alive, sound, sight, smell, they were all around you. A cacophany of action and experiences.

The wilderness didn't try to hide its danger from you. It hit you with it right in the mouth, in the shape of a grizzlie's roar, the crack of thunder or the howl of a snow storm. It was honest. People weren't, they smiled to your face while plotting the knife in your back. They sold dreams and delivered nightmares. He'd learned this long ago, but it was a lesson the world apprently felt the need to continually remind him of.

That, and the views weren't half bad out here. He took a long gulp of coffee as he watched the sunrise, his particular perch looking over the vastness of the Canadian wilderness from the lip of a valley allowed the whole horizon to be set abalaze in orange light, picking out the myriad of the changing colours of the leaves of the trees below. For more than a moment, the vision reminded him of a certain mane of fiery ginger hair, before with a grunt, the man shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought. Red wasn't just her hair, it was the colour of her blood on his claws.

With another growl that was more a forlorn sigh, Logan stood, collecting the large cooler from the ground beside him. He had been night fishing in the darkness. It had a greater yield, and most of the dangers that would make such an activity foolhardy for a human in this season were mitigated by the gifts and curses that streamed through his blood. He had stopped to watch the beginning of the new day, but he wasn't far from home now.

The soft trudge of his boots on the mulch of the forest floor shortly resumed. It wouldn't be long before the groud here would be blanketed in snow, but for now the coverage was sparese, a spattering of white among the golds, oranges and browns of fallen leaves. That was one of his favoured aspects of his homeland, the dramatic change of the seasons. It gave him structure in a life that would otherwise blur into one now that he had withdrawn once again from the wider world and its ever changing events. He was a hardy man even without the mutations that sustained him through far greater dangers, yet still he tended to keep the interior of his cabin an environment that others might find comfortable. That had been the big change since his last self exile, this time he had allowed himself some creature comforts. The cabin was more of a modern home than the wind torn wooden shack he had been in before, although he had resolutely refused the offer of having his own fibre connection installed. The satellite phone that sat unused in his kitchen, that had been the full extent of connection to the outside world he was willing to give those who might find the need to reach him.

He would have refused that too if he didn't think she would have hated him for it. He might have been given plenty of reason to loathe humanity over the course of his long years, but that didn't mean he wouldn't still be there if the call was sounded. That's what she would have wanted, and deep down, what he himself would never give him.

Logan grunted once more, annoyed at himself for feeling excssively sentimental on this particular day, before he moved to the kitchen to begin preparing the fish. Some he'd freeze for later use, but he'd worked up a hunger and felt like breakfast before he collapsed for a nap after spending most of the last twenty four hours awake and intent on bringing back a catch.

His body reacted before he was even conciously aware of the change in situation, one moment he was in the process of placing flanks of fish into the pan, the next the claws of his right hand were out, dripping his own blood onto the hob in the process, the steam and sizzle joining that of his food. Then the sensations reached him, highly enhanced and tuned senses picking up the approaching sound of feet, human feet, in the proximity of his lodge. Already he knew whoever was doing so was professional. If they'd read his file, they'd know trying to sneak up on him like this would be next to pointless, but still their pace was measured, reserved. Respect or fear? Perhaps both.

With yet another grunt he moved his way closer to the phone he was convinced would ring shortly. If they just tried an approach without communicating with him first, he'd have to rough a few of them up on principle. His no trespassing signs were not supposed to be taken lightly.