Redtail Rise Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque

Skulking on the outskirts of the rise’s social circle, Masquerade honed a skill, mindlessly at first and then much more deliberately: stealth. It became a sort of game to her, tracking the various members of the pack as they came and went from the rendezvous site. She did her best to lurk undetected for as long as possible, slowly becoming the ghost who haunted the pack’s hub.

Today, she felt like carrying it a bit farther. She reasoned with herself: if she was old enough to join pack hunts, surely she could leave the rendezvous site independently. In any case, it could be a test of sorts. Masque hoped to slip away without anyone noticing and return just as furtively.

Her heart thumped hard in her chest as she crept through the undergrowth, her uncanny ability to prowl so silently allowing her to approach a figure in the distance. At first, Masquerade assumed it was a pack mate. She licked her chops, slowing down her pace to a crawl as she slithered through the brush, testing herself.

But as she approached, she realized this was no wolf. Masquerade slung her belly to the ground, breathing hard even as she stared at the beast. It resembled the elk the pack had hunted last month, though it wasn’t quite the same. It possessed long, spindly legs but stood shorter than the wapiti. Its comically long snout and oversized ears were what had given her a canine impression at first. She stared at its rear, conspicuously lacking any sort of tail.

The moose calf placidly chewed a leaf, gazing into the forest perpendicular to where Masquarade crouched.