Sleepy Fox Hollow las olas de mi mar

The fire-twinged leader gave a pause, attention dwindling to that of a tree. Flippantly, the spider paused as well, observation toiling over the small den there and the overwhelming aroma of fox that came with it. A species, apparently, that the leader did not take kindly to. A tasteless mark was delivered to the doorstep and, apparently, more were to be had. How the Blackfeather roost could be nothing was beyond the Eta. 

The spider followed, if not at a decreased pace. The hunt for the tricksters was only pertinent if the leadership thought it so. Wide paws clipped into a small ramble, plucking up an easy lope that tailed his alpha with little to no effort. Only a few meals and the inky drifter had more energy and aspirations than before. There was an uncertainty of where, exactly, the pair were headed and whether or not the dashing alpha even desired his darker company. In any event, he followed sullenly, nostrils to the air in desperate search of a trail or other such information.