Otter Creek among the chestnut trees of Mamre

As she nestled into the crook of the dormant volcano, pressing past his damp overcoat and into the vibrant warmth of his skin, Warbone sighed and released the tenseness in all his muscles at once. He could feel her shivers travel through him, and absentmindedly the wolf craned his neck to bathe her ears and neck with his tongue, running away the chills coursing uncontrollably through her. His eyes danced to and fro, never giving any one direction more than a five second stare before his pupils shifted. She eased after a while and then he stopped, licking his chops dryly before resting his head between his broad, chilled forepaws.

Though not prone to time-keeping, he did know that he stayed there with her for a long time. He would drift off from time to time, but would wake each stirring of movement he felt beside him— unused to it, perhaps. After more time, however, Warbone got up. No warning, no grunt, he just stood. "I will return." He didn't want her to follow, but wouldn't explicitly tell her to stay. She could very well leave on her own too, if she wanted. But he intended to bring her back something to eat. His own belly was presently full, and he figured he could spare the energy. Otters were not difficult to catch.

The wolf stalked creekside, to where he had last scented one of their trails, and he slowed as the scent grew. Then he backtracked entirely. He made a wide loop, hoping to approach the nest from behind rather than from any of the trails that led up to it. Angling himself right, the wolf crept up from behind the nest entrance, and saw several otters rooting around just seconds before they saw him. It was all he needed in the charge, and at the end of things (mostly after a lot of scuffling around and twice having to change targets as they repeatedly slipped him), Warbone emerged victorious.

He took his two-foot prize back to the fallen bird, had she remained.