Blackfoot Forest i'd rather drowned in misery than gone to new south wales

any/all welcome

the clouds were high along the serrated edges of the mountains when the wolf woke, stiff and slow. blearily he put a paw to his crusted eyes and wiped, as if the gesture would send his exhaustion fleeing.

their little cove, pocketed by thick briar and winterbare thrush, was empty. for a while venextos stared at the impression garait's slumbering body had left in the blue snow -- even the male's elbow and hips were outlined clearly in the soft powder. a few feet away a long slough of limb tore the snow and empty foot tracks lead outside.

venextos surfaced, stretching a single hind leg out behind him with a groan. there was a whistle in the wind and the pale wolf struck out towards the meadow at a slow clip.

As the clouds loosened and expelled what would be the last of the snowfall for a few days, Duskhall picked up in the dark and began to make way. He was glad for the temporary deferment; storms impeded his progress, and more than anything the wolf detested any stagnancy. The night -- which had also thought to contribute a thwarting factor to his advance -- obscured any long-distant view, but his nose declared that a woodland prevailed up ahead. A place likely to yield a meal come morning.

By the time daylight had filled every bare crevice it could reach, the nightwolf still had not eaten. Not that hunger was his most pressing issue, he realized after a time. His tongue grew drier, eventually leading to a switch in tactics; where instead of keeping eye and ear out for the movement of prey, he instead began listening for the telltale activity of water.

In following the faint trickling of a stream too fast-flowing to freeze, he found instead the figure of a blanched vagabond ahead of him. The male hung back, ears a-twitch and nose quivering. The stranger carried with him the sheathing scent of a recent companion, making Duskhall cautious to approach with his clear disadvantage. Still, he only needed water at the moment, dictating him to proceed slowly and make a quick noise of acknowledgement as he kept a smart eye out for the other male yet unseen.

he was not alone in the meadow, though the chilling wind concealed duskhall's scent for some time. he nosed the powdery snow, snuffing out the half-hidden scent of a rabbit warren under feet of frozen earth.

he would be unlikely to rouse them from their safety in the dirt, and rather than waste what little energy he had in such a difficult endeavor he swung towards the small stream he had scouted along the day before.

it was then the wind shifted and the male picked up the scent of another interloper. he slowed his gait and raised his head, appraising the wind for any signs of more company. none came -- it was then he saw a dark figure moving along the snow towards the stream. 

venextos did not approach, though the wolf made a noise by way of acknowledgement. he carefully picked his way down to the bank and kept his distance, lowering his muzzle to the water with steady laps of his tongue. while he drank he kept his gaze fixed on the wolf, who even from a distance cut an imposing and almost malicious figure.