Emberflame Ridge the new york tribune

Speckletooth knew better than to hunt alone, but he had grown desperate as he attempted to travel through the mountains. The lands were quiet, and he hadn't found carrion for days now. His rumbling stomach pushed him towards a herd.

He was wary the first time around, and not careful enough. He had spooked the deer and they ran, and the deer running had spooked him too. Speckletooth had ran the other way out of pure fear of the stomping hooves.

On his second attempt he was more cautious, spotting a small, young deer, who he was sure would be an easy target. This time his plans were foiled when double vision lost track of the target while he was running behind the herd.

Now he had come to his third attempt, walking as quietly as he could manage through the trees. A lucky breeze carried the scent of another wolf, and excitement prickled in his chest. Someone to help, he hoped.

Speckletooth did not share the strangers reasonable conclusion to keep quiet, throwing up his head for a heavy howl. Somewhere nearby, hoofs began to thud against the soft ground.