Phoenix Maplewood Hungry like a wolf

oh hi there! not bad for a phone post!!

He licked the blood from his lips, the taste of it warm and sharp on his tongue. It took him back to a memory of the mountains, of the early stages of his journey, when everything had been at least semi-okay. His sisters and he had fell an aging mule deer, its eyes glassy with fatigue, and they had feasted upon their first wild kill hungrily. The taste of it was miles beyond the filth their human had given them at the ranch. Denali couldn't resist salivating at the thought.

That was then, this was now. The mule deer were gone, either far away or dead from lack of food. All they had left were these small creatures who feasted on the dead shells of locusts, and even they were skinnier than he would have liked. Denali looked down at the larger bones of the vole scornfully and pushed them away with one paw in irritation, stalking on, nostrils flared as he searched for more prey.

There was another vole nearby--he smelled it--maybe a cousin or sibling of the one he had just killed. He was surprised to find it so close; the scent of blood and death still hung in the forest air. Nevertheless, he walked quietly, his stomach rumbling as this second vole's scent grew stronger and stronger as he traveled through the woods. He was surprised when he came face to face with the creature, hiding beneath some fallen branches. . .how had he missed it? It squeaked, eyes wide, and darted away before he even had a chance to process it.

Damn it, Denali, he chided himself, but his self-deprecation quickly faded into wariness as he noticed another wolf nearby. It was a female, big and black, her grey eyes boring into him. He padded closer to her, then, until he was several yards away, and nodded his head low in a silent greeting. She carried herself like a leader, and he would treat her with the respect that deserved.