Cedar Sweep i'll follow the sounds of wings

The squat trees of the forest had proved a welcoming sight for sore eyes. Winter—rather, winter winds—had stripped all but a few trees bare of their vibrant leaves. They laid where they fell, slow decay diminishing their color to that of the earth. Dirge slipped between the needled boughs effortlessly, taking in the quiet ambiance. His ears were attuned for the sounds that would differ; perhaps a hare or grouse would stir and entice him.

Winter had begun to thin him out, a not so unseen outcome. Though his summery stamina had shed itself along with the warmer season, he persisted with the same unwavering steps that had brought him to the wilderness weeks before. There was still so much to be seen, the endless urge to discover and seek drove him where sense did not. A more sensible wolf would have already sought refuge somewhere. At least that was the thought he had when things grew dire, and thankfully this was not one of those times.

A subtle crack through the expanse ahead lent him pause then; Dirge drew in a breath to test the air and let it go in a breathy plume. A few more careful steps forward revealed much of what he couldn't ascertain—the red plume of a she-wolf and the fluff of feathers of some bird she had made a meal. Though hunger gnawed at him, what she had was far too meager. Of course, she probably needed it more than he did anyway.

"Careful of the bones," he said to her in lieu of a better opener.