Whitefish River Pale Underbelly

As Marcus finished his snack, he took a moment to revel in the warmth by stretching tired limbs by the shore. He began methodically rubbing his face against the soft, wet grass. First one side and then the other. The ruddy brute then allowed himself to be completely vulnerable by rolling over to his side. Pushing off with all four paws, the loner enjoyed sliding himself against the damp earth a few times before righting himself with a brisk shake of his pelt. The coolness of the grass in contrast with the warmth of the sun felt divine. 

Might as well set up camp here.

Sunny gaze peered carefully among the brush in the distance, as his idea was to settle among some of the well covered bramble for the night. He hadn't expected to rest his attention on another wolf, so when he happened upon a strange face poking from the shadows he bristled. As much as the stranger looming under the brush shocked him, Marcus had yet to decide whether this wolf be a threat or not. The fact that this wolf had likely been there the entire time he was relaxing and hadn't bothered him, told Marcus that he could probably lower his hackles. But he would not fully lower his guard.

"Do you live here?" He called to the ghostly figure, his tone more concerned as he was able to better see the shape of the wolf before him. They looked starved.