At a certain point in time, one starts to forget about it altogether - especially if one leaves Beqanna; be that accidentally or not. Especially when shifted into your other self, a self which is not a herd animal but a pack animal - a hunter relying on the group, the social status and activities. Daily squabbling to see who's the strongest, to see who to respect and listen to, to find out who's better off eating the scraps. He always was a wild one, though over-confident. The pack helped him realize that.
He misses them.
The young wolf, however, was not always a wolf, and would not always be. For one, his brown fur was marked with a swirl of colours, and white dots in between, reflective of the night sky. But it was ultimately his behaviour around certain types of prey that marked him different from all the rest. He had little trouble with the usual - but when his pack mates called to hunt a lone horse in a mountain area, he'd stay behind. He never felt like eating what they brought home on those days, though if there was real hunger, he still would.
Home called him back when he reached a form of maturity - his instincts telling him he should leave and find his own. His own pack, his own herd, his own home, he wasn't so certain; but he roamed until he came upon a very familiar place.
The forest.
The wolf grins widely at the sight, wondering what new adventures would await him here.