Blackfoot Forest misery

As some times he tended to be, the creeper sat motionless in the shadows somewhere to the Lambda's left as he began his miserable retreat back to the Creek. He had followed the male at a safe distance, incredibly careful to keep downwind of him and his designated quarry. Now the reason he had chosen to hunt the hunter had been entirely out of envy at first—still mulling over this young male calling Fox his "queen"—but eventually his foolish jealousy had turned to curiosity; so he watched Sveinn hunt with yellow, judgmental eyes.

When the milk-chocolate brute had lost his prey to this noisy forest Haunter hadn't visited since the first time, he didn't find the joy he thought he might in the male's loss. His one ear twitched, and though he had the capacity to be smug about the situation, instead he spoke languidly from his vaguely concealed spot, only able to be seen if one were looking and had noticed his bright eyes. "You might have caught it, if you weren't prone to hesitation," he told the young wolf.