Swiftcurrent Creek I could be a morning sunrise

We could make this into a pack hunt, if you wanted!

Solène flicked her ears towards the tawny female to catch her name. Fox was an unusual name and not at all feminine, she thought, but perhaps it was only a fitting nickname, due to the younger wolf's coloring. Yet the smattering of scars and scratches bespoke a rough-and-tumble lifestyle; perhaps Fox was a tomboy after all. Either way, Solène was delighted to have met a friend so soon. "Bonjour," she said. "It is nice to meet you, Fox. Are all pack wolfs such early risers? And now you say we shall find grubs?" Solène was blissfully unaware of her poor pluralization, and perplexed by Fox's idiom. Tilting her head thoughtfully as she tried to recall her uncle's dull and frustrating language lessons, she queried, "The early bird gets the worm, no?"

Quite seriously, she contemplated this prospect, for though Theomund had been a poor hunter and her younger self had subsisted on squirrels, rabbits, and rats, she had never sunk to the level of upturning the dirt in search of invertibrates, and wasn't about to start doing so with half-frozen winter ground. "Perhaps," Solène suggested delicately, her eyes downcast to avoid the suggestion that she was discarding her new packmate and superior's idea, "we could look for something a bit more substantial." The still of the morning meant that their every noise was audible, so stalking larger prey might be difficult, but the fog would provide the element of surprise. Solène knew how to plan such a hunt, but was woefully inexperienced in its execution, so she hoped that the much more senior pack wolf might take the lead.