Otter Creek I don't want to run

The rolling foothills with their lack of prey were left behind as the animal headed north. Across autumn-burnished fields and frosted thickets did Black Shuck travel, all the while with ears and eyes open for hints of life. He slept mere snatches at a time, long enough to recharge but not enough to become groggy or inattentive. Each territory he passed through was assessed in moments for its bounty, and in each, he was found wanting.

On the third day, the agouti wolf reached another chain of mountains. These did not spear so high into the heavens as the ones at his back did. They seemed kind and forgiving in comparison. The dog hadn't bothered to waste his energy climbing high in the west, but he predicted these mountains would prove easier to pass through, so he changed course and trotted to where the new foothills began.

He walked until he found a creek turned orange with sunset's warmth, and here he paused to slake his thirst with long laps of his tongue.

@Ketzia

Referencing Diaspora's little thief, @Nirali. Suspicion only, as I assume their scent would be very faint.

The hunger had become a tolerated nuisance to the pale sylph. She glided down the mountains edges, a ghost slinking through the dismal ridges, knowing she would need to distance herself from the hollow that showed no promise of food. What was not tolerable was the hunger of her children—and at night, despite their growing age, the mother would stave off their cries of discomfort and pain by trying to distract them with stories, while during the day she had begun to take them with her to patrol and hunt.

It was hard to teach oncoming yearlings to hunt food when there was none to be found.

There was a certain gauntness to her cheekbones as the sun reflected from her frosted pelt. Bright eyes glittered as much as any jewel, but there was a new hardship within her gaze. She wove her way along the creek, and it was with a growing suspicion that she swore she could scent Diaspora’s thief along the dead grass.

Sharpened with her own thirst for revenge, her eyes fell upon a tawny male—his sight set upon the water as she slunk closer, quickly closing the distance between them. Diminutive in nature she might have been—she was also the mother to three hungry children, and she needed to know if this was one of the bastards who was stealing food from their bellies.

Never was there a force of nature more powerful than an angered mother.

Black Shuck was no stranger to being approached by other wolves, but the direct and brisk manner in which Ketzia came was enough to set any wolf on edge. He was quick to lift his dripping muzzle from the river and turn to face her head-on, ears twin spears over his head as a hardened gaze met hers in a silent challenge. Already the wasting muscles beneath his coat had shifted, preparing him to twist away or lunge forward if she made such moves a necessity.

Ketzia would find, if she sought a fight, that Black Shuck would allow her no advantage in the form of reaching his flanks or hindquarters. His body was a coiled spring as he bared his teeth in a silent warning, a wordless communication that the way she came at him was unwelcome and unwarranted, perceived as a possible threat, and he would defend himself if she pressed the issue. Can I help you? he asked, his voice cutting over the bubbling of the river in a rough snap.

Sorry. >< Sinus infection. FML.

Her approach was met with guarded eyes and posture—rightfully so. The bare of teeth stirred the quirk of her own lip, though she did not retaliate to the quiet warning. Instead, her gaze roved over him, an ear flickering deftly at the snap of his voice that seemed to reverberate from the swift moving water.

A tip of her muzzle would provide the only indication that she did not intend to launch herself toward him with bared fangs, but the hard glint of her eyes remained, the lash of her tail revealing the agitation that coiled in her muscles. “A wolf has been raiding our cache and taking food from the mouths of my children,” she returned, the smoky wisp of her voice eerily calm given the tension that clung within the air. “Do you know her?”

The scent of the thief was faint—her mischief within their parklands only brief as she took what she wanted and fled—twice now. The golden wolf before her did not hold the same scents to the nose, but that did not mean he did not run with her. She was trusting on integrity for this answer--something that many lacked now.