Sun Mote Copse To the priest with his broken arrows

His mother had begun the habit of catching and stowing birds in a pit in the ground after having plucked the feathers from their wings- something she'd apparently done before, for someone else's kids, and now Bronco reaped the reward. She'd caught a magpie- one of her favourite birds to catch, though she admitted it wasn't easy- and had plucked the feathers from its wings and tossed it in a pit she'd dug that was too deep for it to get out of. When she'd brought it home, Bronco had immediately insisted that he should have it, and as soon as Niamh set it loose, he shouldered his sister out of the way, grabbed the bird- still alive, of course- and ran off with it. 

It made all sorts of horrible noises as he ran, half-dragging the poor bird, until he was far enough away from the den that he felt fairly sure it would be his, and no one else could take it from him. Once there, he let the bird go, and it tried over and over to fly away- but its wings were useless. It hopped away from him, but he simply stalked it and then pounced on it, as a sort of hunt-and-catch game. It couldn't go terribly fast, so he let it go a bit further each time, as he hung back, before he'd sneak up on it and pounce it again. The bird was miserable- but Bronco was having a good time, learning how to track and pounce. He even let the bird get far enough so that it was out of his sight before he tracked it down, and was getting better at doing so. 

Deciding to give the bird an even better head-start, Bronco let it go free and closed his eyes, waiting until he could no longer see it or hear it- and when he opened his eyes, he went into hunter mode. Lowering his head, he began to sniff around, zig-zagging this way and that way as he tracked down his ready-made prey again.

Unluckily for Bronco there was another predator on the prowl, who did not have any idea that the bird was intended as a live-learning toy. Once out of boy's sight the poor bird ran straight in the paws of another one, who had been approaching from the opposite direction. Wraen startled it and the prey's heart gave out (avian hearts do not deal with stress well - scientific fact) and it fell in a heap right in front of her. 

"Well, that does not happen every day..." Wraen said to herself, leaned down and nudged the still warm creature with her muzzle. Dead as a door-nail. She picked it up and continued her initial path and would run into the little hunter just around the next bend.

It could be said that Avery walked around with her head in the clouds -- although it would be more accurate to say that she walked around with her nose in the dirt. Her obsession with rocks had only grown with time, and she now had quite a collection stowed away in a hidden corner of the rendezvous site. This was why her gaze was often turned down to the ground just ahead of her feet -- as it was presently.

Wraen's voice drew her attention, and she looked up to see the older female gather up a dead bird in her jaws. Avery's attention was piqued, and she abandoned her search for stones to follow the babysitter, only to spy Bronco just ahead and over Wraen's shoulder as they proceeded.

Tracking with his head down, Bronco didn't see what happened- but he looked up when he saw Wraen's feet moving toward him, and his features fell as soon as he saw the bird hanging from her jaws. He sighed and flattened his ears in disappointment. "Wraeeeeen, that was miiiine." He complained loudly, and plonked his hindquarters down on the ground. Puffing a harsh exhale in disdain, he glanced around, his gaze a bemused glower. "I was practicing tracking that. Mom caught it for me." He continued to complain, somewhat bitterly. His cheeks flushed with hot embarassment when he saw pretty young Avery approaching, and assumed she'd heard all the childish complaints that Bronco had just flung in their Sovereign's direction, but he did his best not to show how embarassed he was. It was best to simply maintain his bad boy composure, rather than to apologize right away, right?

He stood up, shook out his dark fur and left his hackles standing somewhat, making himself look scruffy and unkempt. "Never mind. I'll just find something else." He said, though he did feel as though she owed it to him, having killed his bird. Ah, entitled youth.

Here came the proud hunter himself from one side and a curious audience from the other. Amused by being placed in the spotlight so suddenly, Wraen put the bird down, smiled at Avery and then listened patiently to the complaints Bronco threw her way. She stared down at the half-plucked thing that bore bluish red teeth marks on it's body and thought that it was lucky thing that it's heart had given out, when it had. Wraen was all for practice, but she did not support playing with food even for educational purposes. 

"Well, Bronco, I cannot help that the bird fell dead before my feet, when it had reached me," she pointed out to him. "The sight of me probably scared it to death, but I see that you have helped the poor thing along considerably," she did not feel that generous to take all of the blame. "If you," Wraen beckoned to Bronco, "and you, Avery, wish to find something else, we can go and check out muskrat nests in the bog. I think I spied some there earlier. It would be a better practice for you and a more formiddable opponent as well."

Avery's ears pricked as she trailed behind Wraen, though they swept back against her head briefly when Bronco spied them and began to whine. She bit her lower lip to stop herself from giggling at his tone of voice; she could understand that he was quite disappointed by the turn of events, although she was certain Wraen hadn't purposefully stolen his wing-less prey.

She glanced back at Bronco as Wraen offered to take them hunting for muskrats and offered a good-natured shrug of her shoulders. Hunting wasn't her thing, but that wasn't to say she wasn't any good at it. She had the basic skills of any young wolf; it just wasn't something that she had spent an excess of time on. She was willing to tag along, though. "Th-that sounds good to m-me," she said agreeably.

Bronco still felt ruffled that Wraen had killed the bird- even though she claimed that it fell suddenly to its death from fright upon seeing her. This he didn't quite believe- as he didn't find Wraen to be a terribly intimidating wolf, but the fact that he was incredibly biased didn't exactly cross his mind. To him, Wraen was gentle and patient- to a bird...Not so much. Especially to a bird thsat already knew it was going to die, and had no means of escaping while it was being tracked. Bronco's short-sightedness made him stubborn and arrogant on the best of days, and he avoided eye contact with Wraen almost as a means of punishment, to show his lack of interest and respect. 

She recommended checking out some muskrat's dens, and Avery seemed willing to go and do that. Bronco waited for a moment, not really willing to take Wraen's suggestion simply because he still felt entitled to the hunt he'd begun earlier, and that she'd robbed him of his catch. But Avery's interest in the matter was tempting, so he shrugged, eventually, and decided for Avery's sake- and because apparently muskrats were a better opponent for him anyway- he'd do as Wraen recommended. "Sure- I mean, whatever," He said, just so that he didn't sound too interested. "C'mon, Avery, less-go," He said, and he swept forward to inelegantly snatch the magpie from where Wraen had dropped it, his brisk movement punctuated by a slight but sharp growl. Whether he was unaware of his disrespectful motions and sounds or he simply didn't care how they were interpreted was beyond Bronco- who then began to strut off, simply assuming Wraen wouldn't react whatsoever to his rudeness, and that Avery would follow him.

If Bronco had been Wraen's first teenager to deal with, then she would have probably felt irritated by the boy's lack of manners. But she had dealt with a difficult Elfie for few months now, had endured temper tantrums, pouted lips and loud arguments, therefore Niamh's son's attitude did not bum her a bit. She just smiled to herself, as she saw him go, and with time and experience the boy would get past the annoying "know-it-all" stage and become a bit more humble. Or not, but by then, if he got on her nerves too much, she would be able to ask him to leave. First politley, then by involving aggressive politics.

She let the kids take charge and only interferred, when they got too far in the wrong direction. After some time they had arrived by the bog, but the Sovereign did not stop there, leading them (or patiently pointing out) towards the corner, where there was the most water. If the cubs were observant, they would notice the first signs of muskrat presence - the surface they were walking from was soft and at some places almost hollow, there were signs of damage alonge the narrow shore-line muskrats had caused by digging their burrows underground.

"Muskrats dig well underground and are good swimmers," she explained to Avery and addressed Bronco as well, if he was listening. "Here," she pointed to the dug-out tunnels nearby, "you can catch a good whiff of what you are looking for." To increase the challenge even the fresh smell was not always too obvious. The water, mud and reeds mixed in and diluted it a great deal. "And, if I am not mistaken - there," she beckoned to the small hills of reeds and twigs, where there was more water than bog, "are their homes."

"Give tracking a go, see, what you can find, if you manage to scare any out, give a shout," Wraen instructed. "They might seem small, but it can take a team effort to trap one."

Photos for reference: 1. Muskrat lodges - http://cdenature.com/wp/wp-content/uploa...Lodges.jpg 2. Shoreline damage by muskrats - http://suburbanwildlifesolutionsllc.com/...t-my-pond/ 3. You can watch some youtube videos about muskrats in nature. I found this one interesting myself - mink hunting muskrats - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTg8tys4cSA .

Bronco seemed less agreeable, but still acquiesced to Wraen's suggestion. He picked up the magpie's body and marched off after instructing Avery to follow him. She blinked after him, then glanced at Wraen; seeing that the caretaker wasn't perturbed, she fell into step behind the boy.

It only took a little guidance from Wraen for them to reach their destination, and then she began to teach them about their quarry. The ground here was soft, wet, and mucky, and Avery wrinkled her nose at first, then found after a few seconds that she liked the feeling of it between her toes. She looked where Wraen indicated, noticing the holes and tunnels left by the muskrats.

"I b-bet I can find one first," she said to Bronco, jabbing him with a little good-natured teasing to hopefully get him a little more excited about the situation. She then began to wade through the mud and water, carefully examining the unfamiliar prints and tracks and taking in their smells.

Bronco marched off in the direction that he'd been guided to go, with Avery in tow, but unfortunately, Wraen had chosen to go along with them as well. Every now and again, he'd cast a look behind him to make sure Avery was still following- and to give Wraen a somewhat sour side-eye. He hadn't invited her along with him, nor did he want to hear or abide by any of the sugestions she offered, as reasonable as they did seem. He wasn't willing to tolerate it- she sounded just like his mother, yammering on about how to do things- when he simply wanted to try things his way. 

He dropped his magpie once they'd reached the water's edge, but gave Wraen one more look, as though to warn her to leave it alone, before he moved to pad along the water where the earth was soft and wet, making his toes spread, leaving behind pawprints much larger than his actual feet. He sniffed around, ignoring the spot that Wraen had indicated, but he was able to follow his nose and his curiosity toward an area where the long, reedy grasses had been flattened in a trail leading from the water's edge and up to a hole in the bank. There really wasn't much to smell- the mud was so wet, and the grasses so fresh and pungent, but he could see the tracks from their feet leading to and from the water. There were a bunch of holes in the bank, which disappointed Bronco. What were they supposed to do? Dig one out? 

He growled softly, and left the possibility of teamwork by the wayside as Avery issued a challenge. "You're on." He said softly, and charged up the slippery, muddy bank to the first hole he could find, and with a high-pitched bark, as though to frighten its inhabitant further (if there even was anything at home inside the hole) he began to dig, sending sprays of mud and sand out behind him.

Wraen had been effectively unaware of stink-eyes Bronco had given her along the way, she did not particularly try to push for the boy's attention, when he obviously was not listening to her instructions. She did not get mad, but one thing she did, however, was crossing the boy's name off the "feeding list". If the boy was so grown up to play an adult, then he was in the best place to hunt for himself and have no assistance from older wolves anymore. 

The two youths got to work in a friendly competition and after watching them work for a while, she let them be and walked some distance off to work on her own perimeter. It was not her first time on the hunt and soon she had set into the familiar routine of investigating, tracking and listening. With cat-like stealth and swiftness she moved from one tunnel to the next, carefully not to make too much sound and analysing every particle the tantalizing scent that promised wholesome lunch. Finally she walked in the water, lied down and waited patiently by one of the muskrat lodges.

To pass the time she imagined herself merging with the surroundings and becoming part of the landscape. It was a healthy exercise, which helped her focus for long periods of time. This strategy had helped her before and helped her now as well. She caught sight and sound of someone small swimming nearby. The hunter half-turned, locked her gaze on the prey, who was still unaware of her presence. And, when it finally did, the wolf had pounced with open jaws and outstretched forepaws, ready to grab and pin the animal down. 

This part had 50/50 success, but the Artemis was favourable to the experienced hunter. Wraen returned to the youths in triumph, holding the dead muskrat proudly. She settled down and without inviting any of them to share, began to eat and continued to observe their progress. An hour later, when either the two were tired or frustrated or - in a very rare event - successful and bursting with pride, Wraen guided the two back home.