Blacktail Deer Plateau who is the lamb and who is the knife

At first, as he scratched away at the dirt, he expected the prize to be near the surface. It wasn't common for wolves to hide things too deep - although, as he broke through the frozen topsoil, he came to realize the benefit of such action. Meals would stay cold and safe in their holes if they were deep enough. Anselm did not stop digging as he pondered, and eventually loosed a segment of broken rabbit-leg from its confines. Before he could duck his head in to inspect the loot, to grab it and tear away a morsel, a warning slid out from between the trees.

Anselm lifted his head quickly, knocking some loose dirt back in to the hole with his nose. The stranger was large and gray - of similar build to his cousins and those of his own ilk - and for a moment it felt like he had been set upon by an agitated aunt or uncle; by far the most unnerving experience, considering he had never been accosted in such a manner by his aging pack-mates.

All thoughts of the rabbit were lost to him then. He stepped back from the hole and stood in a neutral position, his limbs growing stiff, his head resting in the usual shoulder-level position it had begun slouching in to since his flight from his natal pack; but he did not defer entirely to this stranger. Instead, he simply watched him - unwilling to leave. Perhaps he could barter for a meal.