Golden Glade forced into their true shape

This thread takes place on November 11.

Wind snaked through the boughs, bending them to their will. It traveled ever onward, brushing through fern and turf, carrying scents and intrigues. Amidst each breeze, he is led into realms unknown, a trudging beast. Except when he's not.

With all things lupine, it comes with some measure of ease. He clenches the shrew. It vainly fights and just as quickly dies. It is promptly consumed. It is not enough. Time to move on.

A pack. And with it, appeal. He lingers on the outskirts. Not for long, lest he invite attention. Each border he's ever happened upon beckons him to hungrily investigate, but not cross. To trespass means gruesome demise. He bypasses the populous mesa, leaving ample room.

This glade is unclaimed. It touches the plateau, so he is wary. He moves east, the scent of cedar luring him.

But then there is movement, a small creature darting across his field of vision. A hare! The way in which it scurried along at such a blistering pace - feet barely touching the ground - signified fear. Despite what that may entail, Nakjut gives chase, snapping savagely at it's heels. The sound alone must have startled. That single misstep spells its doom. One back leg is broken. The hare flops, emitting a harrowed squeak. Try as it might, but the wolf is upon him, severing life from this mortal plain.

Standing over his kill, he peers over his shoulder, half expecting a wolf behind him. Why else would the hare run except to escape?