Lost Creek Hollow The prowler needs a jump

It took two whole days before Joss finally warmed up from his torture in the creek, and he’d avoided the area ever since. On the bright side, having been cornered in the water for several long minutes, this was possibly the cleanest Joss had ever been. His fur was still matted along his belly and wouldn’t detangle until he shed it out in the Spring, but in the very least his thickening, albeit dull pelt was squeaky clean. But you can run a wreck through a car wash all you want- and it still won’t cover up the denta or make the rust spots disappear. He looked as grim and sullen as always, like a wolf nearing the end of their days by the way his withers and hip bones jutted beneath his lacklustre grey pelt. Still- he didn’t smell like swamp anymore, and his violent shivering had finally subsided. 

He hadn’t been avoiding Treason and Terance, per say, but he certainly hadn’t sought them- or any of the ther pack members- out so that he could fulfill his purpose as the pack’s scapegoat. He’d tried hunting down a rabbit twice but failed both times, and though he’d located a couple caches, he felt certain he’d get punished if he delved into them. Hunger made his gaze more hawkish than ever, and he walked with his lean muzzle swaying from side to side just a few inches above the ground, constantly searching for a scrap of something to eat. 

He found the very last, thin segment of a deer’s lag frozen to the ground with the morning’s frost and worked it free. It had hardly any meat on it- mostly just fur, bone, hoof and tendons- but it was edible, still. Ravenously, he set his back to a blue spruce tree for protection and began to crunch voraciously through the bone trying to find some sustenance to last him at least a few more days.