There was a peculiar kind of peace to the dark roots and vast evergreens that stretched to the edges of the seaside. The murky undergrowth which lead to towering sequoias was an ideal location. Surrounded by the dense brush and thick roots, Kierkegaard prowled through his surroundings with a sort of ragged grace in his lengthy limbs. There was a slight swagger to his steps, favoring his front right paw due to a mishap that had taken place in his previous hunt. Had it not been for his sister, the ashen male would have found himself in more trouble than he dared admit.
Kierkegaard’s gaze seemed to move from side to side, his gait slowing a bit. He drew his head upwards and breathed deep, noting his surroundings with a placid expression. There was a warren of rabbits in the nearby brush. His tongue lashed against his lips at their scent. Lowering his head to the earth, the large ashen male slunk forward, shoulders rolling in a predatory manner, until he could more closely analyze where his prey was located.
Through the thick brush, three of the burrowing creatures hopped about sporadically on the moist earth, their noses buried in the ground. Kierkegaard’s lip drew over his teeth as he dropped his long from closer to the soil just moments before darting forward, jaws snapping to close around the small creature’s head. With a satisfying crunch, the kicking creature ceased all movement, and the ashen wolf dropped its body to the ground. Drawing his tongue across his blood-stained lips, he wondered only for a moment if he should return to his sister before eating his catch. It took only a heartbeat for him to decide against it, and he lowered his head to the ground, hoping to temper the pang he felt in his gut.

The scent of another wolf was difficult to pick up through the thick aroma of blood that lingered in the air. His nose was buried deep in the sinew and broken body of the rabbit, held down by his thick paws while he pulled against its tender limbs, making it easier to swallow. He was occupied with his current meal to the point that when he finally noticed the female getting closer, it startled him to the point of acting out. The fur along his neck and shoulders rose threateningly, and he drew his muzzle upwards to peer at her with a curious anger in his bright orange gaze. This female was not a large creature; she could easily have been a mixed breed, but that wasn’t what concerned Kierkegaard the most. Her movements were fast. She seemed to dart from her cover in the brush with quick paws, aimed for his recently captured meal.
A guttural growl seemed to echo in his chest before it emerged from his gaping mouth. She had landed success in grabbing what was left of his catch in her muzzle and turned to leave him. A moment late, he darted his downwards just inches from where hers had been, and he snapped his jaws together in a wild attempt to latch onto her.
The life of a lone wolf meant that each meal was precious, and he could not afford to let this wandering wolf walk away with what he had earned. Kierkegaard prowled forward, the fur along his neck and spine going rigid. Parting his lips, he allowed a threatening rumble of a growl to slip past his bared fangs. The ashen male was not one for warnings, and his patience was all but wasted. If anything, she had two seconds to release his catch before he attempted to make a meal out of her as well. Kierke darted in her direction, his adrenaline carrying much further than he had anticipated, and he aimed to draw his fangs across her haunch.

Teeth making contact, there was a moment of satisfaction when Kierkegaard could hear the female yelp in response. She seemed intent on getting further away from him, which was no bother to the ashen male. His gaze fell on the rabbit that she had left in the dirt as her small figure darted further into the underwood and out of sight. Breathing heavily through his nose, he bent his head lower to sniff at the prey left on the ground. Her scent still lingered on the raw meat.
Kierkegaard would have pursued her, but he was not a spiteful wolf, and he was hungry enough that he was certain she would have easily been able to outrun him in a long distance race. His strides would only have been able to carry him so far.
Not chancing what was left of his meal, he began to tear away the meat from its limbs once more. His eyes remained on the brush where the female had disappeared, but he did not believe that she would be returning.