Sawtooth Spire sharks in the swimming pool

Wicked smirked at his leader's playful jabs, though he remained quiet as they headed out on the hunt. His ears tipped toward Iqniq as he described his family, then explained that Tonravik was particularly territorial because of her litter. The yearling took the Alpha male's words to heart. He would go nowhere near the Alpha female or her young. He wouldn't even approach within a hundred yards of the whelping den.

"I'd probably be really hungry too, if I had four tiny wolves sucking on me," Wicked remarked. On that note, "Have you ever wondered why we have nip—" Before he could finish his question, Iqniq signaled him to halt and Wicked did as he was told, immediately pressing his lips together and lapsing into silence.

He shifted his weight as he thrust his pale muzzle into the air to sniff. What the hell is that? he thought as he took in the peculiar scent. It definitely wasn't a coyote. It was vaguely familiar but Wicked couldn't place it. Exchanging another glance with Iqniq, he began to creep forward, dropping his snout to the ground to comb it for scents. The odor was a pungent, musky sort.

"Stoat," he realized after a moment. Perfect. He flashed Iqniq a grin, wondering if he'd identified their quarry, then began to dash along the scent trail, thrusting his snout in various crevices as he went. Weasels liked nooks and crannies even more than coyotes and Wicked was determined to one-up the Alpha. This was a competition, after all.