Silvertip Mountain Bones withered thin

Gopher roll

He didn't really know what to think. This was not normal behavior, and if she wasn't physically sick, there was certainly something wrong with her head. Why didn't she stand when he approached? They didn't know each other - was she trusting enough to lie prone while a stranger approached? Grayday leaned down and sniffed at her, giving her flank a nervous nudge.

!!!

Again, his thoughts scattered. Weak - she smells very weak. "Have you?" he asked, a little aghast. He supposed being on his own had been a good thing, as he'd never been this hungry while the famine ran its course. "You haven't been taking care of yourself," he said, half scolding and half scared. Enough wolves had died on this mountain.

He reared back and cast his gaze around, ignoring the shewolf in favor of finding her a meal. Almost at once, he detected the movement of the very gopher she'd almost caught. Crouching down, he crept toward it with painstaking care. It seemed like days before he was close enough to strike, but when he did, he struck true.

Turning back, he trotted toward his weary packmate, dropping the gopher uncerimoniously on her head. He didn't care if she was a higher rank than he - he was afraid for her, and his fear often turned to anger, when given a proper target. "Eat," he said firmly.