Blackfeather Woods dwindling

There were times he was an attentive and rigid student when someone took the time to teach the trio about the dark woods ways. Other times he fidgeted and seemed to look through the instructor as if what they were saying went in one ear and out the other. This was such a time. His littermates were far more engrossed in the lesson. His mind was on the hunt. He had come close to capturing something larger than an insect and the desire to make the kill was consuming him.

But for all his disinterest in staying, Euron felt rooted so strongly that it made him look at his paws as if expecting to see something holding them. There was nothing there. But his nails were biting into the crust of snow. The pup furrowed his brows. Even his legs felt tense. With a sigh he resigned himself to staying a bit longer. It was not until the topic at hand switched to a lesson he heard before did he feel a strange sort of release. His legs and paws slackened so suddenly he jerked to recover his balance, in the manner of someone who caught themselves just as they were dozing off.

He took his chance. Tail wagging he bounded away.

He scaled the slope of the glen — something he had become relatively proficient at doing since the first time he and his brother had attempted it — and struck off through the trees. Nose to the ground, he searched for scent, for something to hunt, when the thin figure of Cicero caught his eye.

Euron lifted his head and devilishly narrowed his eyes. Cicero was no mouse or beetle or bird, but he was a suitable enough target, an outlet for the boy's energy. He had practiced on his siblings and had been successful in pouncing them more than once. Now was the time to truly test his talents. He slipped into the cover of a thick tangle of firs and started to stalk toward the wolf he did not yet know as his father.