Larksong Grotto and walkin's what they'll do

His eyes remained on the ground as he walked along the grotto floors, the remains of the rabbit he’d caught clinging to his teeth. He’d never had much trouble hunting in the past, but boy was it a whole world harder by himself. Hunger made the mind highly imaginative a white-tailed deer, perhaps — he’d even do with a fawn if it came down to it. A mere rabbit however? 

It hardly pleased him at all.

Ungrateful as it sounded, it was all he knew. That’s why he’d left. To leave his ignorance behind him. —So for that reason, his nibble of a meal would have to do. In the midst of his thoughts, a new scent arrived underneath his nose.

More hunt? No. That was merely wishful thinking. This was the scent of another wolf. Someone a bit different from him. This wolf didn’t carry the smell of birchwood and snow like Oren did. This was something different.

He lifted his muzzle to get a better sense of what it was he was catching. It was a sea-like scent. Not anything foul. It carried hints of the cold, similar to him. A woman. But who? His gaze travelled across the grotto. 

Nothing. Nothing except for faint paw-prints engraved in the fall leaves. So what did he do? He began to follow them.