Blackfoot Forest Furling forests for the soft

Her towering brother remarked in kind on the subject of coyotes. The two of them together struck a formidable presence, as would any other number of wolves in the eyes of a scavenging coyote. Reversed in numbers, however, such as when Moz had been alone, generally equated to a risk worth taking for the competing canids while the hint of winter's breath hung in the air. As the days would go on it was far less worth the trouble to hunt without at least the shadow of Kierkegaard lingering near, and his company would suffice until his previous injury improved.

They would soon need to join a pack. Pausing in step, she turned her head round to toss him a knowing glance that met his no-nonsense frown, then simply said, We will. They wouldn't immediately do so unless someone had made him an offer in her absence, but they weren't exactly afforded the luxury of stalling for long.

It was with that in mind that she prowled on and began to search for indications that food might have passed near recently, stooped slightly to sniff the base of a thick tree trunk, then veered off and meandered along a potentially worth-while trail. They had little marketable value to a pack if they had prominent ribs when they arrived on someone's doorstep.