The Tomb of the Forest

As the animal moved, Tonravik lingered an instant longer than the silver male did. She imagined it might look back, or become anxious that its own movement might entice a hungry beast. It did not. She waited even still, and followed slowly behind it, shoulder blades rolling as her head swayed left and right.

There they were. She moved toward the brush that the male was at and lingered there, prepared to wait until the creature moved again. Tonravik looked it over. Truly, their prey was in full health. Tonravik had no ideas of hunting this particular creature unless the entirety of her pack was there to bring it down. She was not so sure that the lone wolf would be able to hunt well with her as of this very moment given his time of solitude, but instinct was inherent. More than that was his own potential hunger or low health that might lead to rash decisions. The wolf was apparently a good tracker, but that said nothing of his hunting abilities. They were two different territories.

Perhaps he needed a pack. Or maybe he was uninterested. Tonravik's idle thought did not break her concentration on their prey, which began to move again. She imagined that in time, they would find that out, too.