Waterfowl

Nestled in the mountain range's butt-crack was a lake. Farstep had chosen to come this way rather than immediately ascending the mountains with the thinking that there might be a less trying way up, but the male had yet to discover an easier path. He kept his nose close to the ground, but his ears were pulled up on his head in case one of the wolves from the nearby pack came upon him and decided to try their luck. His steps were ponderous, betraying his lack of purpose here.

A pair of wild swans glided across the wind-blown water, and ducks frolicked at the edges. Briefly, the ginger male glanced up at them and swiped his tongue across his lips, weighing his options. He had yet to fill his belly with meat, having been dissuaded from his previous tracking by the arrival of a fox-like bitch. Adjusting his stance to that of a prowling predator and picking up his pace, Farstep made his way toward the waterfowl on the lake's edge.