Redhawk Caldera The Acorn

It was far from the first time that morning that the reedy young male approached the borders of the pack, each time returning with something, a trinket, which was quickly stowed away here or there, some a bit further from the borders and some closer. These were his things, the little items he'd found scattered around that he'd taken a liking to. The things he treasured most he'd left a bit further away from the borders, as though to keep them safe should he not be accepted. Not that any of them were in danger of being taken anyway- Shrike's favourite things were usually colourful rocks or bleached antlers. There was a deer antler he liked quite a bit and a piece of flint that reflected sunlight quite well, and a very white rock he'd found in a stream, but everything else was scattered here and there and would be picked up later if he felt it was that important. 

But as he took up his post close to the borders in the setting sun of the evening, he had something soft at his feet- a rabbit carcass. Only marred by puncture wounds at its neck, the offering lay motionless on the ground at his feet. Though Shrike liked gifts that looked nice, he knew most wolves required something that was of value or use. He knew full well that a thriving pack would likely have puppies, so a gift of food would be a good token, and a good way to show that he could hunt well enough on his own, despite being quite thin. 

He sat, eyes flicking this way and that and ears constantly rotating atop his head, waiting for the next wolf on patrol to come and find him.