Wapun Meadow i'd rather join that pirate ship than gone to botany bay

The white wolf stood on a knoll overlooking a sprawl of meadow. His eyes searched for nothing in particular: another wolf, a deer, a raven circling over potential carrion. His nose did not reach to collect the wind — it delivered itself to him but held nothing of interest. He was about to turn away, to ramble towards a distant lake, when a white blur shot out from beneath a lone evergreen. Skwol's eyes narrowed in focus and watched as another wolf seized a hare previously indiscernible to him in its stillness. He felt a lump of disappointment slid into his gut.

He moved toward the kill site anyway and there he sniffed and licked at the blood and nosed around the tracks of the wolf that had hunted. He followed not because he hoped to thieve a meal or held any expectations of a share being offered to him, but because he was a wolf, and a wolf had need not only of meat but of the company of his own kind. His strides ate the ground in an efficient lope, additional speed borrowed from the path the other had carved into the cape of snow hanging across the meadow's back.

Skwol did not have trouble catching up. He woofed to announce his presence and call for the male's attention, and stood in anticipation, with a swaying tail and approachable stance.