Buried in the silence of a snowstorm

The meager meal he had made of the decomposing possum was hardly enough to bed his appetite -- if anything, it only served to rouse it. Since his encounter with the tan dog, he had skirted all forms of animals -- electing instead to travel without company.

He had just returned from a rounds near the dog-pack's established rendezvous site when he scented a peculiar not-dog scent on the breeze. It would be foolhardy not to investigate, so investigate the male did -- until his efforts were rewarded by the captivating sight of a reclining female.

He hung back, tentative -- his brow furrowed as he watched the female. She seemed tranquil, at ease. Above all, well fed. Before he decided to approach her, he would watch her a while -- unsure if she was as savage as the other wolves he had come across.