Bramblepoint caught herself a somewhere wind

confident in his ability to rouse game from hiding, soto pauses at the she-wolf's chuff. turning around, he saw her jerk her muzzle in a universal gesture. piqued by this, soto follows in interest.

taking the same care as she to avoid the snaring vine, soto's black muzzle lowers to the earth alongside hers. the rank scent of rotting stump takes most of his attention, but he sees cloven tracks -- and one or two quickly fleeing grubs.

a faintest whiff of her scent lingers here, but soto thinks nothing of it - assuming she'd likely inspected this place before her unfortunate encounter with jungle vines; certainly, not to imbibe on the rich filth of beetle larvae.

he meets her expectant gaze, then looks out where the tracks disappear into the foliage.

vamos, slinking into an economic trot, soto trails after the meandering tracks of deer.