The woods were foreboding, even for the ghastly male who trudged through them, elbow deep in snow. His ashen pelt was spattered with flecks of white that would not release their hold on him. His skin was cold, but as long as the brute continued to move forward, he would not feel it so deeply. Winter was wicked. It drove wolves to hunger and anger. Kierkegaard had a child to feed. Without food in their lands, the odds of survival would be slim. He had not seen Moz in weeks, and he feared that she had abandoned the pack and set off on her own. Because of his adoption of Signe, the male was not able to accompany his sister. His only wish was that she would return. As independent as he was, Kierkegaard relied very heavily on the companionship of his only sibling.
Flicking his tail upwards, the large male drew in the scents around him and breathed deep. Prey was in the air, though the fog was heavy and the trees were too dense for him to see where it was located. Hunching forward, the ghostly figure sought out exactly where the aroma was drifting from. As he shouldered his way through thick brush and deep banks of snow, his ears were drawn forward at the sound of something stirring up ahead.
Taking cover behind the large trunk of a tree, Kierke peered curiously around the base to see a small gaggle of turkeys. There couldn’t have been more than five or six of them, but they did not seem to be aware of his presence. Drawing his tongue across his lips, the brute wondered how many of them he could catch before the others retreated. He did not wager he could get more than two. Still, food was food, and the Demonte-Sairensu male could feel his stomach lurching at the prospect before him.

The sudden appearance of another did seem to draw Kierkegaard out of his predatory state. Turning a sharp golden gaze towards the grey-furred female, he peered at her curiously for a moment or two before realizing that they would have a higher chance of success if he allowed her to hunt beside him. The only secondary thought that seemed to linger in the back of his mind was whether or not he would attempt to pilfer the prey that she managed to catch. He was not against taking food from others in order to provide for those he cared for. He was not a man of manners. The ashen brute knew only hardships. Since the healing of his ankle, he had grown back into his aggressive state and had taken many more opportunities to openly attack others.
Flicking his tail upwards for the go-ahead, the brute nodded in approval to the woman. Then, without another word, the beast turned his attention back on the flock of turkeys as they puttered about on top of the snow, stopping to peck here and there. He realized that they were too close to be attempting to catch the same prey. If they should flank the birds, their likelihood was much higher. The ashen male moved slowly away from her so that he might get a better angle at their prey, all the while keeping an eye on the woman in case she decided to dart forward ahead of him. Once he was positioned, he could only hope she was ready.