Logan rode his motorcycle down the dirt pathway, kicking up a cloud of rocks and dust as he drove slowly. It was the same, always a cloud of debris in the wake of his bike but be didn't mind. What was the point of having a custom ride if you never took it out an showed it off? Especially when it was your own work. Much like the cabin was that the mints pulled up to.
Each board on the walls and floor he had cut and hewn, each stone of the fireplace was selected because of its durability and uniqueness. The accessories, limited as they were, belonged solely to him. It was his place, and his alone. Nobody had ever seen it, and despite some of the upgrades to the electricity, plumbing and the fact that it was self-cleaning, Logan didn't mind it.
He parked the bike out front and killed the engine, sliding off of the hog when it had ceased its purr. He pushed the kickstand down before the dismount, and when he was standing Logan took a moment to adjust his jacket and push his keys into a pocket.
That was when the mutant caught two familiar scents, the first stirred a primal urge deep within him. It called to the hunter, the Wolverine. That scent was blood. Logan bared his fangs some, but not as a threat but more in thought. The second scent was that if the young woman he had met at Honour's Christmas gathering. Effie.
Turning, the mutant made his way the short distance into the woods, following his nose. He was a keen, adept tracker and it wasn't too long before he had come upon the young woman, "You okay?" He inquired of her. No greeting, just concern. It was his way.