Lake Rodney Kiss the skies, we're almost home

It was in the absence of his mind that then he stooped to drink, feeling, sighing in pleasure as the icy water wrapped like cold fingers down his gullet. It would not conceal or even distract him from what he yearned, merely give him the strength he'd need to endure what might be to come. A meal was next on the list and what a capable hunter he was; a grown stag had once fallen at the mercy of his great jaws. It was strange how his mind seemed to block out the aftermath of the hunt, yet what embarrassment came after was carefully guarded, something he could spill to no soul.

His skullage raised purposefully from the surface, tongue wetting his nose perhaps to heighten what careful trails could be picked out. Often he would hunt alone, preferring the serenity and coolness that allowed him to focus and so he set off, peeling away from his post by the lake to prowl the treeline. Yet it was not the scent of prey that he caught, rather the odour of another wolf. "Good day to you, sir," he'd greet, his voice a low rumble as the pale shape of the stranger was visible. "Your business here, a traveller like me?"