Meadowlark Prairie the irony of dying on your birthday

*throws Vandal in*

He let out a sigh, his breath turning to mist before his eyes as white paws trudged through the deep icy snow. The large brute's off-white and silver fur bristled throughout his spine as countless flakes of ice continued to fall from the heavens, gradually coating his back as he searched the snow-covered plains. Vandal had caught the lingering scent of Potema recently passing the borders and naturally, Vandal found himself venturing in pursuit, away from the dark coverage of the forest.

The tyro's cerulean eyes gleamed through the haze of white that continued to obscured his vision, dark silver ears remained arched forward as he listened carefully to the sound of voices up ahead. Quickly, his large paws guided him in their direction, blue eyes gradually falling upon a group of gathered wolves within the cold, one of them being Potema. With this, Vandal slowly approached the group, dark ears pivoting a top his head as he listened to the words that were exchanged between those gathered, his cold eyes then curiously peering to the ill stricken female for a moment before glancing to the bile that stained the snowy ground. Allowing a small chuff to escape him, the male gradually came up behind Potema and silently stood himself to one side of the white woman. There, the tyro quietly observed the current situation, eyeing the others, though his sapphire gaze would eventually return to to his pack mate as he remained within the background.