BW leans against his anvil, standing next to a cold forge, bent calipers held tightly in his hand. He should strike up the fire and fix them, easily done, but his motivation is low. A wolf shouldn't be alone, and he's felt alone for too long. Tossing the tool aside he steps out into the brisk evening fall air.
"Em, you around!?" he calls out the garage.
Perhaps other pack members might be about.