Felltree Marsh Duck Hunt

@Quail

The snow that had begun to fall did much to mask his approach. He was, for lack of a kinder or more formal term, a parasite on wolf-kind. He had always been drawn to the scent of wolves, for that meant prey — the kind he liked most of all.

This smell that he had found led to a mountain range, bordered by a marsh. He barely remembered the layout of the packs the last time he had been here. It did not matter much to him in truth. The strigoi simply honed onto that beacon of life and followed it, regardless of if anyone had been there before, or who had been there last. Most of the time the wolves were just faces to him. Voices and scents and tastes. He had not been particularly partial or adverse to any of the packs here in Teekon Wilds. They had all been fair game, amusing in one way or another.

One wolf stood out, but that young man was long gone, to his ... sadness? Annoyance more like. It made him long for another like him — weak, frail, compliant.

He could not force it however, and for now satiated himself with the normal rabble he encountered.