The Tomb of the Forest

A sound. It was a single sound, but the sound was one only prey could make. The bear of a wolf froze, and turned; she had not gone too terribly far, and it would seem the other had heard it too, for they were at the ready. Tonravik was immediate in her decision to turn, to head toward him; her plan to not interact with him whatsoever had changed as the wind might, but such was life.

She was low, but not too low; she did not want to frighten whatever quarry he had found. She drew nearer to him, though kept a comfortable distance so as to not invade his space. Her intent was naturally to distract, but she had no desire to take what he had found (though, given her status as a pack wolf, never mind its leader, there was a large chance that she could if she so desired to). Her body language would communicate that. They could not read minds, but as all wolves could, they could read bodies. A low rumble was emitted, to summon his attentions, and then her head moves left and right in a slow manner. No.

If there was one, there would be more. It would be a waste to take one down to lose them all; the quarry he had spotted would inevitably lead them to a herd.