Honeyed Pasture the world is already on my side

Appreciative of the male’s silence, Szymon blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding on a sigh of relief. Flicking his eyes to the mottled grey wolf, noticing for the first time the faint cloudiness of the male’s eyes, the younger wolf dipped his scarred muzzle in a nod of agreement and skimmed his ears back against his skull with a whisk of his tail that bespoke of respect. The decision was a sound one; two wolves were more than capable to take down one fawn, and it would leave the other fawn to grow and add to the newly burgeoning population. Although the famine was limited to the wolves who followed the herds and not quite as large a factor to the bay wolves who would learn, in time, to reap their bounty from the Sea, Szymon knew that when the inland territories were bountiful again, it was better for the wilds as a whole.

Turning his attention to the deer, he surveyed their options — it was likely they would break for the weald of spindly trees or the sequoias of Donnelaith, and so Szymon wound his way around to keep his back to these areas. They stood a better chance, he thought, if they could attack out in the open — for if the deer fled to conquered territory, they stood no chance at all — and licked his lips. Glancing toward Greyday, the Cairn boy crouched and gave a nod of readiness, ready to burst into movement the moment the mountain wolf gave indication that he, too, was prepared to attack.