Lost Creek Hollow the raided cache

i rambled, whoops.

He hadn't joined the hunt, though a part of him may have lusted after that more than it had a lot of things in his past. Instead Mordecai had been at rest and incidentally restless, frustrated initially that he would once again have to sit out something he considered one of his finer skills. Or at least, something that was once a finer skill of his; truth be told, he hadn't done much in the way of hunting since the cougar attack. He had snapped after birds, maybe once at an unaware goose that had gotten in his path. But it wasn't the same as tracking and bringing down some weary ungulate who's ticket needed punched. Still, when the howls of their victory had reached him, he had slowly unwound from the warmer confines that he chose to bed down in, and had made his way to the northern reaches of the territory to hopefully greet the return of the pack.

By the time he had reached the first few wolves, he found his estimation of from where they would arrive to be off. It was not a hard correction to make for him, drawn in by the tangible medley of their voices in the crisp air. The snowfall was a muffle to the ambient din and those voices carried, drawing him in and aiding him to make the assessment that not all of them were in the same place. That he merely attributed to them either lingering around a cache for what they had brought back (which he would seek out, later, unquestionably), or still trying to revive themselves from a much desired food coma.

Drawing in to the small group that had amassed at the cache, he found the mood there to be sobered up and much different from his anticipations. His brow furrowed as he closed in, unconsciously posturing himself. Mordecai's one-eyed gaze settled on Ilya with question, though he did not inquire as to what had happened. He knew this particular cache to be one of their older ones and more importantly, one that he had tended to several times. Whatever it had been in it was clearly gone and the upturned earth was a distinct beacon against the stark white smattering of snow and faded brush.

His steps came to stop as Misty's voice trailed off, and that gaze had wandered to her.

"But what is it?" he queried all of them, that same gaze opting to look over who he could. Something strong enough to upturn the cache, sure, but they could do that with a bit of effort. He considered the cougar, but discredited it because as far as he knew, none of them had picked up a trace of the feline. There was little to this that looked like it was anything but precise, and it prompted him to investigate closer. His nose hovered over the tracks closer to the torn earth, but all he could smell was the dampness of the loam, and the musty remains of whatever had been buried there long ago.