Duck Lake And so the ducks fly

With a circular motion, Dovev paced a dead tree laying within the grass. He could smell of the mold and mildew emenating from it, see the bugs crawling from crevice to crevice, observe the mysterious depths of inside the log. It was a mini-ecosystem and he towered over it, pale orbs gleefully watching as his forepaw stabbed through the decomposing wood, and it sagged and folded under his force. But the pleasure of destroying a small part of the habitat quickly lost it's novelty, and Dovev left the log, with it's gaping, splintered hole, soon after.

The western part of the Creek territory was well traversed. Much of the pack frequented Duck Lake as a secondary hunting territory, using the attraction of water to lure prey. Although the border fell behind him, Dovev was confident in his trot towards the lake. Loping parallel to the water, he eked his way down the grassy ridge and stopped along the large, rocky shore of the northwestern bank. Something was dragging itself out of the lake, water streaming off its lower body. Slightly amused, Dovev realized the shape of a wolf as it shook itself off on the dry shore. The arctic male was no avid swimmer, but perhaps this light gray creature was.

Giving no heed to the fact that this stranger was near the creek territory, Dovev approached with perked ears and a jaunty tilt of his tail. Water too cold? he called out, wondering how chilly this wolf must be soaking wet, and with a cool autumn wind blowing.