Big Salmon Lake it's time we tried to find the sunrise

The last few days had been short of eventful. There had been ocean views, rolling grassy hills, and now, a lakeside seclusion. He enjoyed the endless summer nights while he could, but Tahoe knew the earth would grow barren and cold once again. Filling his belly would be a challenge on his own in the winter—he was just buying time at this point.

His luck wasn’t totally down on him though. Tahoe arrived at the lake an hour after sunset. Any traces of the sun had been stolen from the horizon, leaving the sky was cloaked in a dreary veil of blackness. McBride had been drawn to the lake by a certain smell. Though faint and mingled with the elements, he knew the scent of a carcass better than anything else. The wolf slunk through surrounding woodland, keeping his footsteps near inaudible. There was a chance some creature had already found and claimed the food for themself—In that case, he was prepared initiate an ambush. Thankfully, he found that his worries were unsubstantiated. Tahoe strode out from the treeline, wandering onto the shore. The oncoming breeze carried a surplus of smells to him. Wherever the carcass was, it was close. It took him a moment to realize actually how close-by it was. The pale moonlight subtly illuminated the water’s surface, revealing his long sought-after prize—a dead goose. The corpse was bobbing gently with the waves, floating roughly a few yards away from dry land. It barely looked like a goose at this hour, he only had noticed the distinct silhouette of an oddly jutting out wing from the mangled body. Based on how decomposed it was, it had to have been dead for awhile now. Without hesitation, the man waded in to retrieve it. The cold, dark waters sent chills down his spine as his body tried to acclimate to the sudden drop in temperature. Nonetheless, he endured the discomfort and paddled onward. Hastily, McBride snatched the soggy hunk of feathers in his jaws and swam back to land. Water streamed from his fur as he clambered onto the bank. He left a trail of muddy footprints as he shuffled back into the thickets, a wet thud at his feet as the goose fell from his jaws. Tahoe shook out his fur, then lazily slumped to the ground and began to consume his rotten meal in darkness.

Morning came earlier than expected. Tahoe awoke, finding himself surrounded by a disarray of soggy feathers and scraps. He had devoured the carrion the night prior, yet he hadn't realized how messy he had been under the cover of night. Blood was smeared on his maw, it was dried, and rather brownish in hue compared to a bright crimson one might typically imagine when thinking of a bloodstain. Yawning, the male blinked the drowsiness from his yellow eyes and rose. Instinctively his paws began to carry him to the water's edge. Suddenly, the sound of soft footfalls made him come to a stop. He stood there for a moment, listening to the creature amble along before poking his head around the trunk of a tree, curious to the appearance of whoever had decided to join him at the lake. As he assumed, the creature was indeed a wolf. The stranger strode gracefully away from him and down the shoreline, seemingly indulging in a morning walk. They were coated in a variety of light cinnamons and silvers, their spine peppered in streaks of ebony. Tahoe observed them stroll blissfully along, noting how the wolf's attention seemed to be focused elsewhere. With a shrug, the man padded straight to the water, thirstily lapping at the liquid. He was aware that this action would probably make the stranger turn and notice his presence, maybe even strategically so. If the wolf happened to acknowledge him, he wouldn't turn down a conversation today.