Bearclaw Valley hym

though a better part of him had been completely spent along the last leg of his journey, stigmata was more than eager to be put to work. he was a wolf burdened heavily by the desire to be needed -- a male whose self-worth was measured almost solely in his physical capabilities -- and, in his not-so-humble opinion, being seen as useless or inept felt a whole lot like a fate tantamount to death. he took after indra's direction like a large, faithful hound, pacing himself at her heel.

the rain had stopped for now, and its wet, dreary air left behind a clean palette upon which only the freshest trails could be detected. it would be easy for the wolves to pick up on whatever creatures that had ventured out into the early morning lull, and as they went, stigmata moved with quiet confidence; assured that they would come across prey in these summery flatlands sooner rather than later. he was a silent companion, all of his senses ranging outward like the swirling scan of a lighthouse, and he mimicked indra wherever she froze suddenly or swept forward like a terribly fleet bird.

at the bottom of an emerald hill, while examining an abandoned set in the ground, stigmata picked up on the recent emission of sheep's urine. quietly, he indicated the discovery to his prospective superior -- deferring to her so that she might decide if this was a task she wished to presently undertake. it could prove riskier than tracking down a rabbit warren, though their chances for success were about even no matter what they did; would it be wiser for them to hunt something smaller? stigmata tipped his head slowly at her, unable to keep the scrutiny from his gaze as he waited her choice.