Dego usually hated straying far from his home in the icy tundra, as he was very accustomed to life there, and having to adapt to the conditions of anywhere else was simply tiresome. He had grown fond of the cold and he enjoyed the grey skies, as well as the white landscape. The barren, dead appearance of it all gave him a much clearer appreciation of life, from the trees and shrubs, to the animals that feasted on them and each other.
However, he'd be kidding himself if he didn't admit why he truly enjoyed his life in the tundra. The farther you went in the icy expanse, the less people you'd see. He was fine living in a state of isolation from the outside world, especially after he had so horrifically let all of his human companions down, subjecting them to the cruelty of his former herd. It was better, this way... Being alone meant he had nobody else's lives to ruin.
But it didn't matter now. He was leaving the snow-covered landscapes and trading them for lush, green fields with butterflies and blue skies as far as the eye could see. It was a good opportunity to run into a band of travelers, or a wandering bard, all who would no doubt be crossing the mountains from Connlaoth. If the pain of being reminded about his past with people wasn't bad enough, they'd likely be so fascinated by his appearance that they wouldn't be able to resist the urge of coming up and bothering him.
All in all, he had no choice but to migrate. The caribou that frequently roamed the harsh tundra were becoming more and more scarce in number, and starvation was not the way that Dego had dreamed of dying. It was either leave and risk coming into contact with others, or be left in an icy grave in the tundra. The choice wasn't a hard one to make. It couldn't be that awful... At least he had much beauty to admire here.
The grass was greener than anything he could imagine, and the blue sky was a nice change of pace. This place was booming with innocent, diverse life in every nook and cranny, and Dego lived for this kind of thing. Especially the hunt. Animals living in this lush of an environment tended to have the richest meat... Still, he was a man of honor. Every arrow that found its target was shot for the sole purpose of survival, and the prey in question's death was given a proper send-off. For most hunters, this was extreme. For Dego, it was the only way.
Unfortunately, it was a quiet day in the valley. Few prey were out and about at this moment, and as Dego trotted along the grassy fields, bow in hand and arrow strung, it became clear that he'd have to occupy his time differently. Perhaps scope out a place to camp for the night... Sure, it was morning, but he'd rather do something productive than twiddle his thumbs!