Big Salmon Lake I must say

It was never smart to wander when you were snacksized, and yet Cathal found himself trotting away from the lake all the same. He was in search of a meal; a rodent to dig up, maybe.

His nose was to the ground, curled tail wagging ferociously. He would feed himself today, make Iseldur proud. He was no longer a pup, and so no longer did he wish to be a burden.

The snow was beginning to make things difficult, of course - falling faster than the last batch could melt. Soon he thought it would be up to his head. Hunting anything would be difficult then - let alone running away from something.

@Cathal

it'd been a long few days. cicero walked these lands not as an outlander, but now rakkr for forneskja. he had a home, but he'd yet to delve into his purpose. a healer that needed to prove himself. so he'd set out with the rising sun, rummaging for whatever he could find to help add to the pack's stash of herbs and tinctures. 

his fur of midnight now dotted with snowy-white stars, he limped toward the lake, where perhaps he'd manage to find something peeking through the snow upon the shore. but then there's a scent—one faintly familiar. iseldur—the man cloaked in sun. a good, familiar face, one he'd enjoy speaking with again. 

only, as he followed that trail, it wasn't the knight. cicero found himself leering at a small thing struggling to navigate the deepening snowfall. a dog. and then he remembered; the knight had spoken of his squire, when they'd first met. 

he fixed his posture, hopeful as to not appear as a threat, or perhaps a predator looking to make an easy meal of the dog. it'd be bad manners to eat a friends squire, after all. "good morning, little squire. i do not know if iseldur had spoken of me—i am a friend. do you need assistance?"

A stranger approached and Cathal was quick to stare up at them. Accustomed to Iseldur's hulking size, he saw no threat in this thin man. He said he knew his pàpa too, so surely he must be alright.

The ends of his fur were growing wet - the poor boy threatening to deflate should the snow keep pounding down, and yet he shook his head. I am looking for sleeping rodents! He answered, the pep in his tone and posture unyielding.

A rodent was small, manageable for a canine of his size. I bring it back to pàpa, make him proud. His eyes seemed to sparkle as he spoke.

His paws were light, his size unthreatening. His prey would never suspect him.

@Cathal

cicero grinned, easy and calm. the dog seemed well-mannered and tempered, just like his knightly friend. "i am sure he'd be very proud. i could try and flush them out for you. you'd be much quicker than i to catch them." he hummed. with a decisive swish of his tail, he set out, hobbling through the snow with his nose pointed toward the earth. 

he shuffled and stamped, working his way in a zig-zag pattern, in hopes of rousing any rodents that burrowed beneath the snow to the surface.

A slight panic covered his face as the other began to 'help'. Little paws chased after him, nipping lightly at back legs. No, stad sin! He insists.

You've seen foxes hunt? He asks, staring up at the wolf with eyes that seem to make him permanently puppy-faced. Much easier.

With the snow and his size, it was far easier to take the rodents directly from a burrow.

@Cathal

another shuffle, only to cease as small and sharp teeth graze his hind legs. he winces, brows drawn together. cicero tilted his chin to stare down at the squire, his incredulous looks morphing into one of understanding. apologetic. 

"right, right. apologies." he hummed. after a thoughtful pause, his approach was reconsidered. foxes turn their ears to the earth to listen for rodents, so he would do the same. 

lowering his head closer to the snow, he held his breath and listened. 

nothing, for a moment. and then the muffled, faint sound of scuffling beneath the snow. his tail swayed, his eyes shifting to meet the squires. "behind you." his voice was quiet.

At the words of the wolf he was quick to earn, ears and nose to the ground.

Soon he began to dig, little paws quick and surprisingly effective. Head went under the snow, and after a moment filled with squeals and the snapping of teeth, Cathal came up with a fat vole and a prideful expression. Too small of a meal for a wolf, but a substantial one for him.

Surely Iseldur would be proud of him! He had found his dinner, and despite some help he had killed his prey all on his own.