Silvertip Mountain Viva la vida (PACK HUNT)

It'd been a long time since he'd lead the hunts in his father's pack - a year, some change, and a good set of eyes ago, at least. He stayed back to get in the swing of things, at first, but then because he found he couldn't tell one creature from another - the herd was one big blur of motion, making him dizzier than they had right to. He tried his best to track the progress of the sickly creature he'd spotted earlier, but soon settled for just keeping track of his own pack, and watching to see if any blob of meat broke off from the rest of the blur.

Grayday was sure that he'd be able to help once they'd chosen a target and separated it from the herd - and soon enough, he could see the distinctively wolf-shaped blobs of his pack finessing part of the blur away. He quickly jumped in to do his part, driving the creature to separate from its ilk. Then, not wanting to get in Valette's way, he fell back once more, taking deep, heavy breaths to prepare himself for the attack.

Forcing his eyes to focus as much as they would in such motion, he stared at the rippling flank of the elk until he was sure he'd found his target. If one could get their jaws firmly around the hamstring, it could mean the end of the hunt. And if he missed - well, he'd still slow the creature down.

Still running, Gray timed his breaths, his bounds, the beat of his heart, and he coiled his muscles and sprang. And he did miss, but only just, and the tang of blood was still on his tongue. Momentum carried his body sideways, throwing the elk off blanance but not bringing it down, and Grayday simply held on, his body bumping painfully but mostly harmlessly against their meal's legs.