Whitefish River Flow with the river

First, he stumbled on Blacktail Plateau, a woodland heavy with the scent of the deer herds that made his mouth water. Amaguq was visibly skinnier than he was on the other side of The Wall, and even his fur had lost its exuberance. Sure the arrival of Spring also triggered the shedding, but he knew malnourishment was the cause of his dull coat.

Without thinking, he set on the trail of the nearest herd: he found it, an hour later, wandering the outskirts of the Plateau. His gaze was quick to pick one of the adolescent's bucks: they were smaller, more reckless. More tender.

The approach was a combination of swift, fast movements with moments of total stillness.

Crouch. Left paw, right paw;

Halt: the deer's ear twisted.

Breathe the air out of the lungs... slowly. Swift steps: one, two, three, four...

Halt: don't move, don't breathe - the deer's wide eyes turned to the bushes. What's that white thing? Snow... maybe...?

Approach. A few more steps. The wolf can feel the scent, can feel the taste!

The wind changes direction. Halt! Deer's nose starts twitching. Adrenaline spikes up.

The wolf lunges himself towards his prey with a leap. The chase is on!

The herd ran erratically, every deer for itself, but Amaguq remained focused on his target. He held onto the belief that success was in his reach and his slim body, fueled with adrenaline, chase down the buck, light and swift as a plume, easily coping with the deer's sudden changes of direction, zigzagging between trees, and any other obstacle between Amaguq and his prey.

And after some time, Amaguq finally had the beast in his reach: the wolf aimed a mouth full of fangs to the deer's groin... Only to be shoved off with ease. His jaws had faltered, the grip wasn't enough, and all they left on the terrified prey was a couple of bloody scratches.
With that, Amaguq realized that the hunt would not reward him: not this time. So he quitted the pursuit and left the deer to cross the nearby river in a very ostentatious and inelegant manner. 

The wolf's golden eye rested upon the river waters. He crouched for a moment to quench his thirst, and the rapid movement of whitefishes, rushing underwater right under his nose, readily picked up his interest.

He tried, even though he was used to hunting the land beasts. Fishing required a certain set of skills that he obviously lacked, like patience and timing. So he failed miserably. Once the frustration and despair kicked in, and the wolf started mouthing the waters blindly, he even managed to snatch small rocks from the riverbed. But no fish.