Silvertip Mountain Energy is the gift of youth

Alastor’s eyes were, more or less, glued to the space where the rabbit stood, clueless of the fate it was about to meet. He slunk around, movements seeming slow, but covering the necessary amount of ground. Once he reached the place he believed to work best, he crouched down and waited. As the other grey wolf inched forward, the boy’s own muscles tensed up, getting ready to spring forward if need be. The second the storyteller’s jaws wrapped themselves around the leporine’s back, the Greek wolf jumped to his feet and started trotting towards them. He grew satisfied by the cracking sound that went out around them, knowing instantly that it meant the creature was dead. He was a few paces off when the rabbit was dropped from the elder’s jaws, and he was invited to join him. Drawing his tongue out over his muzzle, he gave a nod of his head and then closed the distance between them.
 
“That was a good catch,” he complimented, right before leaning down and grabbing one of the hare’s forelimbs between his teeth. Using his paw to steady it, he yanked his head back, tearing the limb from the creature’s body. He then proceeded to take a step back, before beginning to eat the piece he’d taken. He had nearly forgotten how nice it felt to work together with another wolf while hunting. Even if their choice of prey was just a rabbit, the feeling wasn’t any less enjoyable. “Aside from rabbits, have you seen any other prey around here?” He’d finished the leg, and, as a wannabe gamekeeper, was curious  about what else lived in the area.