Kintla Flatlands Plates and Saucers

Nestled down at the edge of the lake with piercing silver eyes scanning the surface, the wiry male wolf waited, as though deciding the perfect moment to ambush prey. His body was concealed by tall grasses, long, dry yellow stalks from the year past that arched over his bony shoulders and narrow flanks. All that moved were his two dark grey ears, and their movements were fast and constant- each swivelling independently as though to pinpoint the direction of an interesting sound. His sharp gaze would rest on one location for a moment, before darting elsewhere, to land upon some other point of interest. Truth be told, Shrike looked like he was either fearful or hunting- but in reality, the male was quite calm. This was simply his state of being. 

There was nothing here that interested him terribly. He could smell that a porcupine had passed through a day ago, a few deer as well, and wolves too. There were packs in this area but he hadn't drawn near their borders. The flatlands would serve, for the time being, as a home to him as the stimulation from the wide, open expanse was enough to satisfy the cravings his senses constantly demanded. Having tired of watching out over the lake of water, he stood up suddenly, with a quick jerk, and began to meander through the plains. 

His eyes continued to search the horizon, and he would occasionally cast a glance over one shoulder, and his ears constantly rotated atop his fine head. The scents and sights of unattainable prey- birds, mostly- did not interest him. But when the scent of a wolf- fresh and close- caught his attention, he froze, lifting his head high and casting his bright gaze out across the flatlands. His posture was that of someone who demanded to find whoever it was who was within scent range. He was a hunter who did not like being disappointed. Wanting to lay eyes on the wolf, whoever and wherever they were, he issued a sharp bark to see if it would catch their attention and give away their position.