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Fig hadn't really planned to just sit and watch when he'd followed the scent trail to where the herd was now gathered, but he found he couldn't help himself. The air was filled with the aggressive sound of grunting and antlers crashing against each other. The tension in the herd was one even he could feel as he crept near enough as he dared and settled in to watch.

This wasn't the first time he'd seen this behavior--stags battling it out for mating rights--but it always interested him. He watched with studious scrutiny as they charged at each other again and again, wrestled, disengaged, circled, and charged once more. The does of the herd ambled around them, some interested, more not so. None seemed at all concerned that a wolf was watching them, if any noticed him at all.

Fig shifted in the snow to get more comfortable, content to watch the show. His sister and brother-in-law were off doing whatever mated pairs do together (he wasn't going to think about that one any further), so he had time to kill.