Wapun Meadow A taste of winter is on the air

Darkness enveloped the valley as the rugged male stepped out of the forest, facing a wide open plain. Sorin had not been able to find any prey in the forest, there was simply too many foxes around. So he had come west, trotting among ever thinning trees until he came to the edge of a large meadow. He was sure that, in the brilliant light of day, perhaps dawn being the best time, the meadow would look spectacular. It would sparkle with frost left over from the night, and the golden fall grasses would sway gently in the breeze. But now, with the dark of night, he could see nothing of its beauty.

The dark male shook himself as he set out into the grass, constantly looking for prey. He knew that meadows such as this were often the homes of pheasants, a prey that he was particularly adept in hunting. Tonight however, his mission wasn't to actually hunt down any of the birds. Instead, he wanted to find where they were holed up for the night, and then wait until dawn to hunt them. Sorin knew hunting at night made things far more difficult, and he couldn't afford to blow his chance. His last meal had been almost a week ago, who knew when he might have another. So he methodically searched the meadow, try to catch the scent of any of the birds.

He spends a lot of time outside the pack's territory mostly because he can — freedom has always been an intoxicating feeling for him. He's avoided lingering out past dark until now, but today he feels... odd. Off, somehow; the sun slides across the sky and down past the horizon almost before he notices the landscape darkening around him, and soon the meadow is lit only by the faint light offered by the stars.
His trek home is slightly reluctant. It's tempting to just spend the night in the meadow, alone under the stars — but it's also cold and lonely, and the safety of Easthollow is equally tempting. So forward he goes, until the scent of another wolf catches his attention and draws his focus away from the journey home. He pauses, lifting his muzzle slightly to catch the scent a bit better. Near, then — but not very. He turns to follow the scent, confident he's on the right path as it grows stronger, but he can see little under the cloak of night. He's feeling more impulsive than usual, and determined to find the stranger — for whatever reason. So he chuffs a little uncertainly into the darkness after a few beats and pauses, ears pulled forward to listen for any response.

Sorin continues his search as the darkness of night deepens. While hunting this way may not be the best strategy it's all he can utilize at the moment. He has no intention of sleeping until he has found signs of his chosen prey. There is too much at stake to quit early, for winter is on the horizon, a rapidly approaching storm that will claim his life if the rugged man is not well prepared. 

After a few moments, Sorin finally catches scent of the birds. He follows the trail, unaware the he is being followed as well. However, as he scans the area around him, his attention is diverted by the scent of another wolf. Sorin curses himself for being inattentive enough to allow someone to follow him for so long without realizing. He looks back into the darkness as a chuff reaches his ears. He contemplates responding, but ultimately decides that if the other had any foul intentions, communication wouldn't have been the first action. So Sorin quietly chuffs back, acutely aware that the pheasants might hear them.

A couple beats pass, and he almost decides to turn around and head back home — but then the chuff is returned. He doesn't hesitate to follow the sound, noting the way the other's scent grows stronger as he approaches, until finally he can make out a figure in the darkness. Hello? He calls softly, taking a few more steps toward the stranger; he's unaware the other is tracking pheasants, or he might be a bit quieter. Tired as he is, though, it doesn't occur to him that there might be a reason the stranger is wandering around so quietly in the darkness.

Sorin hears the other stalking through the grasses towards him. He bit off a growl of annoyance as the wolf moved through the night; it wasn't that he was loud, but he wasn't exactly being quiet either. Sorin figures that the stranger has not picked up on the pheasant scent, else he would probably be quieter. At least, Sorin hoped that would be the case.

The stranger called quietly to him, and Sorin carefully stalked within a few paces of the male. "Hi," the rugged male replies in his typically neutral tone. Sorin can barley make out the scarring on the strangers face, but makes no mention of it. It isn't important, and it's not his place to pry. "Listen, I'm stalking pheasants. You can join me if you want, but be quiet and follow my lead." While it may be presumptive of him to order around a pack wolf, Sorin simply doesn't care right now what the other might think. He has one goal in mind, and that's to find where the birds are sleeping. If the stranger wants to join, then its a extra pair of eyes and possibly fangs in the morning. If he doesn't, it wouldn’t change Sorin actions. Honestly, he couldn't care less. As long as the stranger didn’t jeopardize his hunt that is.

The response isn't exactly what he'd been expecting, and for a moment he can only pause and stare at what little he can see of the stranger through the darkness. Um, alright, He responds uncertainly, lowering his voice so as not to startle the — whatever that dude had called them. Peasants? No — pheasants. Yeah, he's got no idea what those are. But apparently he's going to stalk them with some stranger, now. He watches the dark figure closely, ready to follow him wherever he's going — and hopefully, find out what a pheasant is. If it's anything like a cougar, he's bailing — without shame.

Sorin waits only long enough for confirmation or an exit by the stranger. When he receives the former, he sets off once again into the grass, his nose buried in the sea of swaying gold. the scent gets stronger as he continues, until suddenly Sorin can't make out the scent of one bird anymore. "Judging off scent, I'd say four or five" he whispers, more to himself than the stranger who is presumably at his side. He continues ahead, more slowly now that the hunters are close.

A roosters cackle splits the night, and Sorin freezes, hoping against hope that he will go undetected. Multiple other birds respond, and Sorin's eyes widen at the implications. Four or five pfft, more like ten or fifteen he thinks in amazement. Apparently, most of the birds had come into sleep from beyond where the two wolves where currently. He had hunted large groups of the birds before, but never this many. Sorin stays completely still, weighing his options. He flicks his tail slightly to catch the others attention, before slowly beginning to back away from where he had heard the pheasants calling. Hopefully, the two can get out unnoticed, and come back in the morning.