Far south from where he had made his new home was a land that reminded him of his birthplace. The land reddened and the grasses disappearing as the sand absorbed it. Small bushes took the place as the main form of vegetation. He felt comforted that a part of his homeland was here, immediately adapting back to the warm sands and bright sun. He lopes through the steppe, his gait calm and bouncy, simply enjoying the warmth in the chill of spring. 

He wasn't surprised to see that there was another wolf here; the land was still relatively cold and the sun was intense enough to warm a body, but gentle enough that it wasn't scorching. His eyes followed the wolf's gaze, seeing the antelope off in the distance. He chuffed, low enough that the deer would not hear, but hopefully enough that the wolf would know who he was. A hunt, then!

The male was large, larger than Haoniyao currently was. The front half of his body was black, paling into white on his back half. Most interesting to Haoniyao was that he had no tail. He wondered what kind of accident allowed that to happen.

Without a word spoken between them a plan was devised: splitting apart and taking the antelope on both sides. Haoniyao had the advantage of speed in this match-up, but stamina was much more important with these creatures. He broke off and began walking towards the antelope, keeping his pace slow and casual.

Pronghorns were tricky to catch. They were prey often reserved for the more experienced members of the tribe, but Yao had been privy to hunts before. Strategy was the important thing here, and trapping the antelope in a pincer was perhaps the best option — spooking the creature into running into one of their jaws. Of course, this was all assuming the pronghorn didn't bolt forward instead of towards Yao.

Yao maneuvered himself away from the antelope, trying his best to seem uninterested in the creature as he sidled away. He looked at the antelope and his hunting companion from the side of his eyes, glancing every once and a while until the man charged. Yao paused, waiting for the shy deer to get closer.

The pronghorn, unwittingly, is going with their wishes. His hunting partner is wearied, flagging as he chases the antelope towards them. Yao knows that he has to time things right if he wishes to catch the creature — they were always fast things. He charges at the antelope, closing the distance between them, putting on as much speed as he can manage before the antelope can turn away. His teeth snags into the antelope's neck, the sudden snag twisting the ungulate mid-run. He feels the creature falling, limbs tripping over themselves, his limbs intermingling, until they're both on the ground, a dust cloud rising.

He is dazed for a moment when he and the pronghorn collided. He is surprised that he managed to hold on to flesh at all, and even more surprised that he didn't break his neck in the tumble. He removed himself, stumbling and blinking and shaking his head.

He isn't out of the hunt for very long. He immediately jumps back in as soon as he gets his bearings. He leaps on the pliant creature, holding it down as best he can as his hunting partner releases a stream of blood from the prey's vitals. He steps back as the pronghorn twitches through its final deaths throes, panting heavily as he looked between his prey and his hunting partner.

He prefers cleaner kills, but he didn't want to risk being hit by the flailing ungulate's limbs. It was always a risk when they died, clean kill or not. Their limbs, in death, gained undue strength. He stepped away, panting lightly as his body relaxed.

He knew the term. Living down south by the border, he had interacted with wolves speaking the Spanish tongue before outside of his enclave. It comforted him to have this little sliver of home brought before him. He nodded back in understanding, still a bit sore from his tumble. He eyed the carcass, wondering which part he would take. It would be too far for Neverwinter, but a little would be enough to tide him over for a while. When he regained some of his breath again, he spoke. What pack are you from?

His eyes linger once more on the legs of his prey. He again aims for one of the hindlegs, admiring the strength found there in that part of the body. He grips the thin part, the foreleg in his teeth. Neverwinter Forest, he says between gritted teeth, unaware of the bad blood between the Nightwalkers and his own pack. The name disquieted him nonetheless, making him think of washirikina na walozi. He begins to tear the leg off, pulling it from its torso.

He jerks, pulling the leg back and forth to tear the muscle and ligaments there. He pauses, blinking at the dark wolf. No, In fact, no one had told him anything about the politics concerning his pack. He didn't know much about who their allies were, who their enemies were. He should ask. I would hope that we call a truce now, He chuckled, pulling once more. The leg was hanging by a thread now.

With one final tug, the pronghorn's leg comes free, Yao staggering back a bit with the last effort. Haoniyao, he says with a grunt, the limb dangling in his maw. He couldn't speak his language well with his mouth full, so his instinct to say a formal farewell is stifled. He nods, then trots off, back to his newfound home.