Deepwood Weald the scavenger feeds in hum of low sea

and behind him came his shadow.

the coyote remains but a flicker of movement, a distant tail. now and again she will dare near enough to catch the outline of his silhouette as it appears through the thick-wooded weald, only to pause and wait again for it to vanish in the trees. it is not luck, or skill, that has kept her ribs from pressing taunt against her pelt, but cunning and thievery. 

greyjay thinks him a hunter, at first. he is male, healthy, in his prime. there is no reason for him to be alone, this far from any pack, save the hunt. and yet motivation seems to elude him, for her careful trailing has offered no results. his pace remains even, steady, not even a mark to show he'd tried at a hunt. disappointment rises like bile in her throat, and as snow begins to fall, she catches up once more. 

he is only barely within sight, still a good distance away, and motionless. scowl mars her features, even as she perches upon her hind, unable to give up on the wolf just yet. she'll wait a while longer. 

cameo unless acknowledged!