She was hungry. She was always hungry. The lucky days in which she managed to snag a mouse or catch a squirrel unawares were few and far between, and no amount of scattered morsels could satisfy the deep hunger that plagued her after her long journey here. The endless discomfort and restlessness made her agitated and irritable, and she often found her temper short and her patience thin for no apparent reason.

Hunting in these lands was so different from what she was accustomed to. She had grown up in the barren, unforgiving north, where vast herds of caribou and bison roamed the open tundras. Game was large, slow, and heavy, and the entire pack participated in taking it down. It was easy to run down a meal on the open flatlands outside of their forests. They feasted until they were fat and lethargic. Here, however, everything was different. Dark, dense woods, thick, tangly scrubs and hollows, deep ravines, steep mountain slopes, soaring cliffs, and countless other obstacles made hunting far more convoluted and difficult. She had to learn how to do it all over again, it seemed. She had to be stealthier, faster, better. She had to think abstractly, be clever, and outfox (outwolf?) her quarry.

Much as she hated to say it, she needed a pack.

She padded alongside the rocky shore of the river near the forest where she and Antares were staying until they figured out exactly what they wanted to do. There was no way they'd be able to make it on their own when winter came, but for now, they had time to while away the warm summer days in careless (if hungry) freedom. The lower half of her body was wet, and vibrant eyes scanned the rushing surface of the river in search of the telltale glint of fish scales gleaming in the sunlight. For the moment, she saw nothing. As she rounded a bend in the river, she saw another wolf a little further up the shore, wading about in the river seemingly in search of fish himself. Her curiosity piqued, she paused where she stood, the cool water lapping at her toes, and watched him.

At some point, the young grey wolf noticed her presence and regarded her with a curious look. He continued fishing a moment later, and Sigrún remained where she was, watching him work. The way he hunted the elusive fish was fascinating; for the longest time, he was as still and silent as a mountain, standing motionless for so long that a casual observer might have lost interest and looked away after a while. But then, in an explosion of movement, his head shot into the water like a silver lance and he quickly resurfaced with a fat, glistening fish clutched in his jaws. Sigrún couldn't help the grin that crept over her features as she watched. He made it look so easy that it was almost amusing to watch.

Much to her surprise, he caught a second fish and invited her to eat with him. Her smile was replaced by a more serious, wary expression. She was not accustomed to other wolves sharing their spoils with her. Where she had come from, each wolf fought for his fair share, and he ate when it was his turn -- not a moment before. Wolves certainly never went out of their way to accommodate strangers and invite them to share in their lunch. Sigrún was confused and, fearing trickery, very nearly considered turning around and leaving. But the empty growling and contorting of her stomach reminded her that she was very hungry, and the sight of the fish wriggling angrily on the bank made her lips tingle with saliva.

After a moment's hesitation, she walked slowly toward him, her frozen-seawater eyes following him watchfully. She wasn't afraid of him, of course. He may have been taller than she, but he was younger and presumably less experienced. She was confident that she could take him in a fight. But she had no desire to resort to that. It was her nature to question the motives of those she did not trust. Lowering her head, she sniffed the fish and then gingerly took it in her mouth. Carrying it between her teeth, she moved a few paces away and then set it down between her front feet. "Thank you," she said, still eyeing the young male. "I am not used to being offered food by those who do not know me. What is your name?"

Though he was young, Sigrún was impressed with the boy's response. Her own mother certainly hadn't taught her anything like that when she was younger. Everything Salene had taught her had focused first and foremost on what was best for the clan and for her own self-preservation. Salene hadn't been a selfish wolf by any means -- rather, she was one of the most selfless wolves Sigrún had ever known -- but with the pale queen, the pack always came before the individual. Before meeting this young wolf here today, Sigrún might never have thought to go to the trouble to feed another. Perhaps, in future situations, the notion might cross her mind, however.

The silver male had asserted that she looked just as hungry as he did, and she nodded as she settled down with the fish between her forepaws. "I am," she agreed, before biting into the fat, succulent fish. Warm juices flowed into her mouth, along with the tangy, ever-decadent taste of fresh blood, and the meat was soft and tender. Scales stuck in her throat and became wedged in her teeth, but she paid them no mind for now. Her empty belly welcomed the food with gusto, and she ate ravenously, saying little as she did.