Tuktu Weir The only F word is Fun

If he didn't make himself clear before, perhaps the rumbling growl in his throat would be. Half starved and further pushed south, the male was feeling quite trapped and desperate in his new surroundings. The midlands and valleys to the north, yet still below Swiftcurrent Creek, had been a challenge enough, so the wolf had swept his patchy-furred body down and ended up here. Regardless of what this female was hunting for, Dovev was in the mood for anything.

His mind briefly drifted to more fruitful times, where he had been able to share a kill along the shores of a lake. Now he was stalking closer with all the intent to strike. Perhaps it was desperateness in his greyed eyes, hidden behind the hard crinkle of his snarling face. Water always drew prey, for it was a necessity of all creatures, and a commodity to be taken and defended.