Lost Creek Hollow bowspirit

He heard the long approach of a wolf in the snow well before he chose to acknowledge it. Given the depth that he had rooted himself within the territory of the Hollow, Mordecai did not fret over whether or not less than savory types would permit themselves to tread so far. Whatever faint acknowledgment he gave those footfalls came in the form of a turned ear — only at first — before the hushed sound of Ilya's bark drew him to stop.

Drawing his solitary gaze to linger over her form as she joined him, he mirrored her greeting. He refrained from offering her a sound greeting, though the inclination was there. She seemed in better spirits than the last time he had seen her, though he did not question or doubt the impact that finding Luke had on them. He had yet to seek him out, if only to allow him the rest that he had given Mordecai in turn, but the time was coming.

For now, there was the premise of a hunt.

Venturing on, his attention returned to the disturbed path of pristine landscape to pick up the scent again. His was a patient venture, though now with the budding sensation that he could not falter. It was subconscious at best, indescriable that he would suss it out in spite of lacking total depth and field of view. But the show would go his way, or at least so he thought and in its wake there would be no description of what they were setting off to do.