Silverlight Terrace Then there's me, I'm seventeen

The energy the fallen doe had provided him was starting to wane. He could feel his stomach pinch with the early nagging of hunger. His mind drifted to the caches that had been dug and filled in his homeland for all but a moment before he brought his focus back to the present. The snow beneath his heavy paws, the biting chill of the air, and now the burn of an empty stomach drove him onward with more purpose than before. Survival was at stake.

Movement gave all away. It gave away the deer to the wolf, it gave away the wolf to the deer, and now it gave away the wolf to the wolf. Taggarik's blunt snout had been dropped to sniff at the blood and fur of a rabbit left behind by a weasel's kill, but he lifted it when his gray eyes honed in on the motion in the distance.

He strode toward the other wolf, intent to see what he was doing. Taggarik had attached some purpose to the way the wolf moved, thinking perhaps it was in pursuit of an animal. His curiosity about this was in service of himself, his body demanding of him that he locate food. What he found however, was a wolf busy digging in the soil. He stilled his paws some distance away, watching, his tail idly sweeping behind him, his posture relaxed.