Blackfoot Forest conflict of interests

hey!

Although the pack was well fed and maintained, Dovev still felt that eating out of their caches- something he didn't help fill, wasn't in his interests. Besides, the wolf had grown up on the tough, sinewy meat of animals long dead. Scavenging was no stranger to him, and in fact, was a vital part of living in the north. So the male would sometimes go out to find an old kill for nostalgia, rather than need.

He hadn't wandered far from the Creek holdings when the brute's nose was lambasted with the heady winter wind, bringing with it various aromas. Pleased with his luck, Dovev had picked up the scent of something dead and frozen off to the west- and he could taste the undercurrent of meat still on the bone. It seemed promising... save for the fact that the male could also decipher an unfamiliar smell. It wasn't one of a wolf. Not a fox or coyote either. No, the arctic male couldn't tell what it was, but he was not one to stray away from something he didn't know of. His paws picked up the pace and the wolf swung out towards the direction of the kill.

Dovev halted in the vicinity of the kill, his eyes able to distinctly pick out the ribcage rising off the ground, with strips of leathery skin tangled in the cold breeze. The source of the strange scent, however, was increasingly strong and seemed to emanate from the medium-sized creature feverishly ripping into the scraps. Lowering his head, the white wolf slowly approached, nose twitching. He had never seen anything like it- it was the size of a fox, but had a rather strange shape, and patchy coloring. And must be dumb, too, for the wolf had come up easily behind her. More curious than hungry, though, he was content to watch from a short ways away.