Dragoncrest Cliffs i don't love being the person who hides in the garage with her secret crib turkey.

vague about all things in existence

Artaax gave his coat a hard shake as he crept away from Hougeda that morning. The sun had barely begun to rise, but he had slept well enough and had no interest in laying idly about. There was a small ache in his belly that told him it was time to hunt. And let's be honest, that ache wasn't at all necessary - Artaax was always motivated to hunt.

The young wolf crept silently through the trees, steering away from the shoreline and the lake to roam the woods around their Southern border. As always, he was on the lookout for avian prey, though he wasn't feeling as picky as usual about the level of challenge his chosen species would give.

Ever since Wildfire’s return, Thuringwethil’s nights in Hougeda are few and far between. She makes an attempt to work around this and spend more time there during the day, at least once every morning and every evening. When she stirs from her morning slumber, she slowly unwraps herself from around her mate and shakes herself free with the intention of going about her usual routine.

Before she gets too far, she notes Artaax’s fresh scent leading a trail away from her destination. Thuringwethil’s ears swivel forward and she turns, immediately adjusting her course to follow after the pale boy. When she breaks the tree line into the redwoods, she picks up a trot until his scent thickens and she slows, noting a blip of white against bark and she swings up nearby just a silent footed.

Artaax hesitated briefly when he sensed another had joined his hunt. He glanced around until he spotted a dark shape in the trees - one he knew to be his nomi. His tail wagged softly for a moment before he continued along, gliding along through the trees parallel to his new hunting partner. There was no opportunity to give her more of a greeting than the small wave of his tail - he'd just picked up a scent.

He paused to inspect the brush further, his notrils working furiously as he moved his muzzle to and fro over the fronds. He took a few steps forward to the next patch of brush and began to sniff his way through that bush as well until he found a few feathers stuck in the shrub's thin branches. Artaax stood then, looking ahead through the trees for a moment or two, just listening. And then he was moving again, crouching low and trying to keep as silent as possible in case the grouse were nearer than he believed them to be.

Artaax doesn’t regard her any more than she expects from him. A few shakes of his tail, a look from his peripheral, and she glides in along nearby. She moves at a similar pace, equally silent, and directs herself around trees as needed. They do not go far and he finds what he’s looking for, shuffling around a bush. Thuringwethil slows down to watch, nose twitching to scent the wind for what he’s looking for. Drool pools in her mouth and she licks her lips, eager to discover what's on the menu.

Artaax crept forward steadily, hesitating when an unexpected and likely unintentional noise was made by his prey. He listened for what information that sound could give him - location, numbers, awareness - so he could put together the puzzle of his hunt, piece by piece.

By the time he thought himself near enough to make his move, the boy had determined that there were five or six grouse hiding in a thicket near the edge of the treeline now only a few yards ahead. He looked around for Thur as he settled down to plan out his next move, motioning with his muzzle towards where he suspected their prey lay, though he thought she might already know. In a situation like this, he knew their best bet was for one to flush the birds towards where the other waited, and so he looked at his nomi again to gauge her receptiveness to him being the one to direct her in this.

Feel free to PP them in the next step? :o

Artaax has always been keyed in to his senses better than the other children. She’d noted it when he found the baby kit when he was young and over and over has proven his skill. Watching him in the middle of work is where her interest rests, not the grouse on the other side, but he decides he is ready and her goal shifts. Thuringwethil nods her head once and takes a silent step forward, careful where she places her feet and waits for him to construct the next several steps of the hunt.

He caught Thur's eye shortly and felt a thrill of excitement at the nod of her head. Artaax loved hunting, and he loved every opportunity he was given to show off for his nomi. He directed her with a pointed shift of his gaze and waited silently as she moved into place. He kept his focus on any reactions of her movement from their prey, but couldn't help the admiration that swelled in him for her when she illicited not a peep from the hidden cluster of grouse. This was all working wonderfully. He was totally gonna score.

Ha.

As Thuringwethil came around and slid into place directly across from him with the thicket in between, Artaax felt his muscles tensing again, ready for action. From here, he could think of no way to communicate his desire for her to be the one to flush out their prey, and so he took it upon himself once the timing was right. He darted forward, still taking care to be as quiet as he could, though shortly there was little point in it. The birds sprang from their shelter - all four of them (he had counted wrong). He leaped for one, trying to snatch it from the air. He missed, but continued his pursuit even though he knew it was fruitless for him at this point. But no matter, they were all flapping right towards heda, so there was still hope for breakfast yet.

As Artaax guides are, as much as he can until he’s out of sight, she hunkers down and waits. She has always been proud of him. He easily learns from her, takes after her in more ways than she’d ever expected of him, as if she’d been the one to carry him herself. She is sure she is where she needs to be, waiting eagerly for him to burst through and send them flying, and when he does she moves quickly.

Thuringwethil doesn’t notice he is unable to catch anything, too focused on her attempt to do the same. Birds have never been something she’s been good at but she makes a valiant effort anyway, running and jumping and snapping. She is only met with a mouthful of feathers as the kill flies away haphazardly and she spits out her failure onto the ground, resettling heavy breaths and searching for the pale boy to see him and his efforts.

She frowns when they both come up empty handed and she trots in his direction, bumping his shoulder, and urging him to keep searching.