Morningside Cuesta morning glory

morning's earliest light found lestan on the move again, drifting into the cuesta as his stomach pinched. he'd eaten only once since traveling away from the creek on his hunting foray, hunger sharpening him from the shy, pathetic thing he was before others into something more.
attuned to each breath of wind and the calls of meadowlarks on the wing, cognizant of the deer tracks and the larger hoofprints left by caribou, lestan pressed on until the aroma of hare filled his senses.
his belly tightened and he started to creep forward, dropping lithe shoulders into a hunter's crouch.
just so long as lestan kept all his attention on the pursuit, his mind would avoid its dwelling on other matters.

Lestan wasn't the only figure on the prowl as dawn broke the skies darkness. The sun peaked over the horizon, shining between the crags as the white goliath carefully treaded after the silhouette of oaken hues. His tail flicked mindlessly, keeping his distance, though a woof would've been let out by now to alert the man of his presence.

The prey scent was noticeable, its' presence in the air a reminder of hunger: one of Lestan's hunger, Frederick noted, as he dropped into a crouch. But a hare? That was what he was going after—when there were plenty ungulates around? The smell of caribou rode the wind, and for a moment the giant was reminded of home.

But, nonetheless, Frederick watched in the distance, quietly seating himself. He'd wait for Lestan to pounce and start on his meal before getting any closer. Maybe he could hunt a deer and give the two of them a heartier breakfast. But if this was what Lestan preferred, he supposed he shouldn't be judgemental.

A quiet hum, then falling back into silence.

lichen-licked trees and tall shrubbery provided cover for the slender witchman; leaves fell silent around lestan. his honeyblue eyes searched for movement and found it; a hare's ears lifting just beyond a thin screen of deadfall.
unbidden, his mind wandered sharply toward his cousin's guests, formulating in quick math how many days he would need. always beckoning was the taiga, though it was in those wildernesses that he had met the french cougar and experienced a permanent wounding that oozed jet inside his soul.
it was not until he had neatly sprung over the fallen branches and started the hare terrified through the copse that lestan registered he was not alone after all.

Frederick watched him spring for the hare, observing intently. Ears swivelled forwards as he listened to pawsteps thunder after the small rabbits' feet. The man was unblinking, readjusting his posture for a moment as he waited for Lestan to zip forwards and take the Hare by the scruff.

Frederick liked to consider himself a patient man. His tail was neatly tucked against his hind leg, his maw shut and his ears, eyes, watchful, perceptive. He wondered if Lestan had picked up on his presence just yet.

He wouldn't publicly announce it so soon—that would only make his hunt more difficult, Frederick thought. Should the rabbit only get further scared; use more adrenaline. Escape. That would be less than desirable.

So he continued peering at the figure. Watching him sprint. Sitting in place.

frederick? what was he doing here? lestan was not displeased to see the snowy male, only confused as to why the newest creekwolf did not wish to remain in his chosen territory.
perhaps many visitors to the creek-borders had driven off the hunter as well. they both seemed solitary in their own ways. a parade of unknown faces; maybe they had this discomfort in common.
but, blast it all! he was flagging in his too-intense curiosity, and doubled upon a quicker step that drove the hare beyond the final cover and into a clearing of shorter grass.

He'd been noticed, but it seemed to be at the misfortune of his packmate, as the hare quickly took advantage of the situation and dashed into the grasses. Slowly, he'd stand, waiting to see whether Lestan would continue to go after it. If not, he would offer his own assistance. Perhaps the two could take down a deer. Drag it back to the creek, maybe, if the trek wouldn't prove too far with the added weight of an ungulate.

Frederick waited with a raised, waving tail, somewhat ushering Lestan towards him should he give up on the small game.

in a last attempt to lose its pursuer, the hare leapt again. lestan followed suit, and the two rolled over and over in a spasm of torn grass.
soil flinging from his coat, long body scrabbling in his mouth, lestan bit hard.
carrying the hare toward his packmate, he set it down to pant. "wh-what br-brings y-you th-this way?" the mayfair asked, though his eyes proclaimed brightly his pleasure at seeing the snowy man once more.

Ah, there he went. Frederick watched as he finally caught the hare, giving a soft, prideful nod that the oaken man likely wouldn've seen. He watched as Lestan trotted back towards him, the small game dangling from his muzzle.

Then, he was addressed with a question. I wanted to come out hunting, Frederick replied. I figured since you were out, maybe you were hunting, too. The man looked down at the rabbit, gesturing to it. He smiled when he spoke next: Turns out I was right. His words, accompanied by a grin.

He scented the air, then. Pink nose pointed upwards, taking in the smells of the cuesta. He hoped for deer. Something he could bring back to the creek. Partly to prove himself, and partly to make sure that everyone had something to snack on.

Let me know if you find any deer. He hummed, taking a few steps in search for more scents. His tail swayed, beckoning, almost.

frederick's silent praise did much for lestan's sense of esteem, so that his step became jaunty. "there are d-deer all over," he blurted, "and c-caribou too. but hares and r-rabbits are easier. you can c-catch more of them," lestan added, nosing the animal's limp form.
"i c-can tell you where th-they are, if you w-wanted to bring m-more hunters," the earthstone man offered, honeyblue eyes shining at the potential of being useful.

The mention of caribou made his ears perk. One day, he hoped, he'd be able to gather a group of four—maybe five or six—men, and they could take one down. Feast like kings. Like his father had. The thought stung in his mind for a moment before he spoke. Maybe some extra teeth would be helpful. he smiled.

A deer sounds good, does it not? Drag it back to the creek, maybe. Blueberry—that was one of the deer mothers, right? and then he quickly remembered that she had passed. The new leader, though, have you given him a name? He'd still his body, then. Tilting forwards, though. A silent gesture to suggest movement. To lead towards the deer herd Fred spoke of, perhaps.

Hunger rumbled deep within his stomach. He wondered who of their packmates would also enjoy a meal. All of them, probably. He hoped, at least.