Stone Circle A hunting we will go….

Alright! Time to prove himself!
He had spent months working as a hunter before his accident- this was nothing new, nothing to be so nervous about.
With a nod, Moss took the lead, finding the direction of the breeze and plunging headfirst into it. He trotted in the direction of the hunting grounds, nose working furiously. Wolves, wolves, and more wolves. Scents would be useless until they got farther away from camp.

--

 Moss remained quiet as the time continued to pass, eyes glued to the ground, and ears perked and listening, dreadfully aware of every second that ticked by with no leads. While he must have seemed composed, in truth, anxiety had begun to set in, fogging his brain and making it even harder to focus.

 The soft creaking of the branches in the wind was punctuated by scurrying in the brush below, but what the folded ear was so carefully listening for had not yet been made apparent. Then, after a few moments, the flapping of wings broke the winter still as ravens hopped between the boughs, greeting the wolves with a croak.
Thank goodness
 Right on time! Moss smiled, returning their salutation with a happy tip-tap of their front paws.

He would follow them until the trail became apparent, sage eyes flickering between the heavens and the earth beneath. Broken branches, scratched trunks, heavy hoofprints in the soft soil; they were getting close. Moss stepped into a crouch, signaling Bjorn with a fwip of his reed-like tail.

A quick scenting of the air confirmed this notion, and the thin canine's steps grew slow and measured until they froze quite suddenly. A branch cracked loudly up ahead. Moss' ears perked to attention, listening for the dreaded blowing sound that he had come to learn meant reveal. Silence. They glanced back to their companion, gesturing with their nose.