Broken Boulder [m]aftershock

The older man had ranged to hunt. He checked the cold places for signs of caribou so that he could report back to the Rise, and otherwise kept busy. There was a singular joy held by the feral man when winter was present in these Wilds, as the weather turned and became difficult. To test himself against the bite of winter was something he enjoyed.

There was a dulled bloodscent on the wind now. It pulled him in to a more confident stride; it wasn't until some time later that the scent was washed away by snow. Tulimaq had entered a thicket, and found there he wasn't alone.

He called to the pale figure, Are you hunting?