Wolf RPG

There was a certain sort of subtleness in Romulus's movements as he trudged through the woods today, ears pricked, nose flaring, hoping to catch the scent of prey, body moving smoothly like a well oiled machine and pawsteps as silent as a panther. It was late afternoon and the long shadows of the sun and the trees concealed him from plain view; he used them to his advantage, moving in tandem to the light and dark so only those with keenest eyes could see him.

The Roman stopped. He straightened up, a frown creasing on his brows as his gaze flashed cooly around his surroundings. The wind paused, then blew softly again, rustling the leaves near him and his fur, causing a nice shudder to run down his spine and bringing him a welcome scent of rabbit. Romulus grinned, a wide smirk that spread across the length of his face as he crouched, ears splaying against the flat of his skull in excitement before he prowled forward with the grace of a cat, cautiously making sure he was downwind.

He was close; he could sense it; hear it, smell it. The grin was gone now, replaced by one of slight concentration. Fierce, bi-colored eyes peered through the thick intertwined leaves and bushes and through the few gaps, saw the snuffling creature by the base of a tree. He crept forward, slowly, carefully, then gauging the distance and noticing it perking up slightly, leapt forward, jaws crunching down on its neck. The warm taste of blood filled his mouth; Romulus bit down completely, making sure it was dead, before he placed it on the ground with a satisfied smile.

Licking the blood from his lips, the boy picked up the carcass of the rabbit in his jaws, dug up a cache, placed it in, filled it up again and continued on his mission on hunting. He would eat when work was done.

He had not seen much of the gray boy, and it occurred to him that he had not so much as spent any one on one time with him since he had given him the tour. His responsibilities had kept him astray, but the black wolf was determined that he would know each of his pack members as individuals, and so did not hesitate to turn onto Romulus' trail when the wind drifted his scent to him.

Upon nearing the wolf he caught trace scents of blood and hare. It seemed the yearling had been hunting. Two weeks in a row their attempts at large game had been unsuccessful, and even the black wolf could feel a soft pinch in his gut; small game, while delicious, never filled the belly like large game.

"Romulus," he greeted with a waving tail as he approached. "Had some success hunting, did you?"