Morningside Cuesta Hunt for who we've not yet become

Day leaped only a moment after Kieran, grabbing at a bird that had startled a few yards to their right. He'd only been able to see it when it tried to take flight, but Day'd been tight as a coil beside the father-son par. He'd sprung in an instant, and the bird was between his jaws before he'd turned back to the others.

He caught the tail-end of the boy's catch, and grinned through pheasant-feathers when he saw that it'd been a success. With a muffled woof, he pranced toward them with his own catch, tail waving like a flag behind him.

"Nice job!" he praised, spitting out his own pheasant and ducking his head to lick a bit of blood off the top of the boy's muzzle. Pheasant, not wolf, he decided, pleased that Kieran did not seem to be injured. "Put up a fight, though, didn't it?" he teased.