Wapun Meadow running home, running home

and so his presence was a comfort. not in the way that dolce gave, but rather something different ; a friendship, a reliance ; reassurance, in knowing that they were both strong, able-bodied, and able to protect one another. yes, came a simple word, before she lowered her stance and crept forwards. they would be granted the opportunity to get close, should they remain silent, for the breeze did much to hide their scents.

but as snow crunched underfoot, the buck grew wary, and there was nothing they could have done to prevent its swift sprint away. what they could do, however, was kick their legs against the snow and make haste, following after their prey, and that is exactly what the huntress did. jaws snapped forwards, latching onto a boney leg. her grip was hard, the sharp teeth of a predator breaking into the soft bone of prey. the crack came as music to her ears, as did the crying bleats of the buck. there was no sympathy ; no mercy.

with cole's presence, they would take the ungulate down quickly. it would tire in the thick snow, and it would fall ; when it did, they would surge forwards, and take control of the hunt. the meadow was their domain. the land of the bearclaw wolves.