Honeyed Pasture Eight seconds left in overdrive

Sorry it’s a tad delayed, I had a busy weekend :) @Osprey


Mason was at the back end of his excursion. He had debated heading straight home, but there was the niggling identity of a pack he had scented a few weeks ago when he had been out nearer the sea. He wanted a plethora of information before he requested the scout trade. When he got home he would wind it all up in his mind and memorise the important bits. Once done, he would approach his Dad regarding his trade.

Mason cantered over the hard compacted snow at the edge of the Honeyed Pasture; this early in the morning the sun had not been out for long enough to soften it. He could see the border trees of the pack for which he did not know the name. He lifted his grey-white muzzle, closed his wide-set eyes and howled a short, querying howl.

Mason had the fleeting thought of specialising as a spy, however he immediately banished the notion. He knew his flaws, and he was too chatty to keep such a thing a secret. He had always worn his heart on his sleeve.

Mason lingered as close as he dared, but hopefully not too close to the scent markings. This was ultimately dependant on how grumpy and possessive a border patroller was, but Mason didn’t want to go home empty-handed of knowledge from this pack that was so close to his own. To appease any approaching wolf, Mason lay down in the snow, rolled onto his side and exposed a portion of his pale belly, happy to wait a couple of minutes to see if his call was answered. He blended into the mottled snow quite well, except  for flaming orange eyes which were on the lookout for any approach. If it was aggressive, he would flee before they reached him.