Boartusk Heights Tenderfoot

He recuperates. In doing so, he realizes: this excursion is harder than he remembers it being. The air is thin and traveling across level land has made him soft. He has ostensibly slimmed. Still tanky but prominently lean in places once interlaced with stiff muscle. How...aggravating. Moreover, being alone has done nothing positive diet-wise. While that is to be expected, Natjuk is still disappointed.

The days grow colder, the snow deeper, and the prey wisened. Might be a good idea to shack up with one of the packs around here. If not for permanent residence then for this stygian season. Roaming has done him no favors and it shows, much to his dismay.

Rested, he returns to his jaunt up the mountain, following the sound of trickling water. He comes upon a rivulet that is not yet frozen. Here, the water runs clear. Natjuk invites himself, muddying his front legs in the process. He surveys further up the brook. The ice grows more condensed, forming a patchwork of white. Some pieces have slipped free, either drifting downstream or snagging on debris.

Movement gives him pause. There's someone further up a-ways. Natjuk approaches without preamble, slowing to a stop on the other side of the stream directly across from the wolf. He hungrily breathes in the air, testing it as one would prey. It would take several lunges to close the distance between them. Still, Natjuk will not come closer without acquiescence, his bearing tired but interested.