Hideaway Strath Tell the wolves I'm home

The scent of festering flesh drew the rosy boy to their hideout. His copper gaze was curiously levelled as he padded forward, keeping his body low to the ground and his auds trained forward, eager to catch the movement of possible food. He rounded the hilltop, his fur fluffing out in excitement as the enticing scent drew closer by the second. Wind whistled through his pelt as he slowed to a hold, surprise causing his eyes to widen as he took in the figures of the white canids in front of him. One, a young wolf, was sleeping soundlessly beside an older female, presumably its mother, who also held the wound. He was not one for rational thinking; the odour of blood had left a red haze in his mind and he crept forward, lips beginning to peel back in what one could describe as a snarl.