Silver Moraine chase

She heard him before she saw him, the wind the last to tell her this day of his arrival. Her mighty head swung in his direction, tail swaying behind her—it was good to see him again. Tikigâk marched toward him with a confident and easy stride, allowing him to sniff. 


Tikigâk dropped her prize, stepping over it to pick up on the myriad of scents he wore. Many new ones. Some familiar, but she would not place them—they had not been important to her, though she had crossed the literal paths they had walked. Faded scents there, fresher upon him—but it meant nothing to her. 

Tartok, she rumbled, pleased. She stepped around him in a loose circle, nosing the meat toward him. Darukaal has grown large, she shared what her nose told her. There was pride for him there. He wore much more scents than the last time—he, a virile male, was a worthy competitor to any alpha male that might lurk within any radius they might share. Issitoq was but one other she knew of. How many more? 

Then and there, it did not matter—she was with the one she preferred.