Big Salmon Lake Industrial strength

The pups were nearly two weeks old and their eyes were starting to open. Peregrine grinned as visions of his children's little faces (and beady eyes) danced in his head. He yearned to turn around and go home, yet his paws kept carrying him swiftly forward. The caches were running a bit low for his tastes and he wanted to bring home something big and juicy for Fox.

Since he found no promising scent trails close to home, he ventured beyond the caldera's borders, heading toward Big Salmon Lake in the distance. He was hoping to find a herd of something or other by the watering hole and maybe, if he was lucky, there would be some newborn fawns or calves to hunt.

As he drew closer to the lake, he saw a small group of elk milling the shore. Peregrine counted them. There were seven of them. He slowed and stopped, keeping his distance while he observed. His brow furrowed. There were no calves among them. None of the seven appeared old or injured either. He would be a fool to go after a healthy elk by himself. Snorting, he lowered his head, his tail lashing as he deliberated what to do now.

Reluctantly, he began to turn away when something caught his eye. He froze, squinting at the wolfish shape on the other side of the lake as he tried to figure out whether or not he recognized the other canine.