Porcupine Ridge black mousepad that needs a cleaning

His pace was slow and deliberate. Each paw was lifted carefully and gently sunk into the snow as he put it back down. His nose drifted across the top of the snow, his ears swivelling more frequently than normal. Finding a mouse was as much about hearing them scrabbling in their snow tunnels as finding their scent, perhaps even more so. Terich followed behind.

The pair did not travel far when the black wolf stopped, one forepaw was curled in the air and his focus was trained on one spot. Scritch, scritch, scritch. He could hear the mouse as it shuffled under the snow. His tail was still like the rest of him; he was a statue except for the pivoting of his ears as he tried to pinpoint exactly where the rodent once.

Once he thought he knew, he struck, slamming both paws down hard as he pounced. The mouse shot out from the side of one paw, he was off his mark by a half-inch and only had the mouse pinned by its hindquarters. Not enough. He made a snap at it but the mouse evaded his teeth, taking to the top of the snow as it made a mad dash for more cover.

Perhaps Terich could make a catch.