Fiery dusk set on the edges of the lush forest and sunlight's last rays trickled down to the very bases of towering trees before fading to the west. Deep within, it hadn't much mattered how brightly and insistently the sun still shone, and the tangle of creeping vines and reaching branches were prime physical evidence; below the thick canopy of the old wood, there was only enough room for heavy darkness.

Moz, with conveniently camouflaged pitch black fur, moved deliberately and soundlessly as could be among brush, impossibly craggy roots and the ocassional pitfall of a hole that might snap the leg of a negligent animal. She was inherently sure-footed, with long, lissome legs and dextrous, balanced paws that felt telling details of the cool earth beneath them before placing her confidence in such steps. Survival was never a guarantee.

A faint rustle in a coarse thicket of foliage directly to her right prompted one ear to snap to attention. Her head whipped around with blinding speed while her lithe body twisted and her strong hind legs launched her entire form straight at the vaguely discernible movement.

Exactly when she plucked his scent out of the air was irrelevant, but by the time she’d stormed right through the fortified weave of wood and sparse leaves and made crashing bodily contact with an absolute giant of a wolf, she knew enough to snap her scrabbling jaws shut. What proceeded happened in the blink of an eye, and had she not recognised him for who he was, they might have locked teeth amid his powerful thrash. Moz kicked herself backwards using the momentum he threw into her just accurately enough to avoid a harsh stumble, then danced to her right with startling finesse. She had grown to well know her strengths and limitations concerning this particular beast.

The bladed strands of her hackles were spiked with what might otherwise have been her attack, but a cheeky smile found its way into her expression and they quickly found their way sleek against her neck and shoulders. You are not above being mistaken for food, she said darkly with turquoise eyes that gleamed in the light of humour. She was quite pleased to have him back in her company, even though he had turned out to be about as far off the menu as any animal could possibly be.

With that, she half-reared and reached to administer a gentle yank of his ear in greeting.

A smirk of any degree was a rare thing to elicit from the rugged, ashen behemoth before her, and yet they were never to her surprise. She rarely offered any shred of humour outside the company of her sole comrade, and while he often showed his particular brand of appreciation for these, they were primarily for her own amusement. Neither of them delighted in small-talk, however, so there was at least a modicum of necessity to be found in her dry dialogue. In this case, it was an admission of the reason she’d barrelled into him only a moment previously.

He allowed her affectionate greeting and returned with his, then prompted an explanation of her recent whereabouts. She turned and began to walk back in the direction of the forest’s edge when a corner of her lips pulled back just enough to allow the briefest of glimpses at a row of gleaming white teeth before concealing them again. They were not, of course, meant for Kierkegaard, but for the twinge of annoyance at the hunger in her belly and the reason it was there.

Coyotes, she said with a razor’s edge to her voice in only the short of her explanation. Two decided they would follow and interfere with a hunt. Needless to say, she’d chased them away and viciously gave them a show of the double-edged sword of tailing and subsequently pissing off a very capable predator. She hadn’t been injured because neither of them had chosen to fight over the option to flee.

Moz looked to Kierkegaard and down at his right front paw at that moment. Having been set back slightly the last time they had hunted together, she wasn’t entirely sure he was ready for more of the same. With or without him she would need to hunt again, and soon.

Her towering brother remarked in kind on the subject of coyotes. The two of them together struck a formidable presence, as would any other number of wolves in the eyes of a scavenging coyote. Reversed in numbers, however, such as when Moz had been alone, generally equated to a risk worth taking for the competing canids while the hint of winter's breath hung in the air. As the days would go on it was far less worth the trouble to hunt without at least the shadow of Kierkegaard lingering near, and his company would suffice until his previous injury improved.

They would soon need to join a pack. Pausing in step, she turned her head round to toss him a knowing glance that met his no-nonsense frown, then simply said, We will. They wouldn't immediately do so unless someone had made him an offer in her absence, but they weren't exactly afforded the luxury of stalling for long.

It was with that in mind that she prowled on and began to search for indications that food might have passed near recently, stooped slightly to sniff the base of a thick tree trunk, then veered off and meandered along a potentially worth-while trail. They had little marketable value to a pack if they had prominent ribs when they arrived on someone's doorstep.