Meadowlark Prairie Lovely and provocative butcher paper silhouettes of slavery era self-mutilation

Coyote, Dragomir thought as he inspected a set of tracks in the prairie snow. He craned his neck to study the distribution of the tracks, comparing them to his own pattern as he strode along. Based on how the left hind print always seemed to brush over the snow in an uneven fashion, Dragomir guessed that the coyote was injured. Maybe it was an old wound that left a lasting limp, or maybe it was a new injury.

Either way, the young Moonspear male could take advantage of it. He bent low to sweep his tongue across one of the paw prints, but sensed no blood hidden in the snow there. Probably not a new injury unless it was something internal, but he was only guessing. Pricking his ears with interest, the young male began to follow the tracks as the sun disappeared behind a midday cloud.

@Vanity Tracking thread!

She decided to take a walk.
Someway east, trailing some deer tracks. 
The land was snow-caped. Winds brushing up whirls of frost which pelted her in the face with sharp daggers.
So she camped in a dip for a bit, knowing these tracks went too far for the Nightwalkers to hunt. But it was nice to get into the open for a while.
Soon, the wind stopped and she was left with stillness. Almost completely.

Another tracker, adjacent to her location. She rose, chuffing loudly so the hunter could hear her from the distance. She trotted forward, her tail swaying softly, inhaling the scent as she neared; Moonspear.
She offered a smile, knowing he was tracking and careful of her step.
"What's your prey?"

A sudden gust sent snow flurrying across his path, momentarily obscuring the tracks. Dragomir lifted his head and licked at his nose, wetting it even as the wind dried it, and that was when Vanity called to him. He turned from his trail and was taken aback by the appearance of the Nightwalker Lieutenant. Her coat was black but her face was drenched in white, resembling a skull. In spite of her smile and her kindly greeting, the marking made her seem ominous and eerie enough that for a second, he hesitated.

But a potential hunting partner had presented herself and he was never one to turn down help, even from a stranger. It was wrong to judge based on appearances, anyway, and he felt badly about ascribing any meaning to her face marking just because it looked like a wolf's skull face to him. So at length he returned her smile and answered, coyote, I think. You seen any around here?

Sorry for the delay! Yell at me next time

A pause. The lad was unsure, and so would she if she were him. Getting used to neighbors was new to her also; especially for him since the youth were always told to stay away from everyone outside of the pack.
So many pup-snatchers these days.

"Nightwalkers are overrun." 
It was no lie. Far too often she'd found caches looted by the opportunists and it made her wonder if the nightwalkers even had Mercenaries anymore.
She could try hunting them at night to feed the pack, though.
A good idea she'd soon implement.
"I'll try and help you with tracks. In the winter, prints ice over then get covered by fresh snow. If we're lucky, there will be some." 
Prints were the way to go in winter. Easy to follow once you get the trail and saved your nose for the harder parts, or from getting carried away.

She moved forward, looking at the freshly covered track. She licked away the snow to reveal the dragging gait. It can't be far.

He felt guilty about it, but even as Vanity spoke, Dragomir's attention was on her face rather than the words she spoke. He wasn't so absorbed as to miss them, but there was a conspicuous beat after she delivered her news where he should reply, but didn't. It passed soon enough and he started, blinking rapidly and saying, oh, that sounds like it sucks. Did Nightwalkers have poor border defenses or something? He didn't mean to judge at all, but for a wolf being raised with Moonspear's aggressive custom, it was hard to take a pack seriously that couldn't keep coyotes out.

It didn't say anything about Vanity, though, just her pack. Maybe a little about her judgment, to remain with such a pack. Dragomir recalled his encounter with Hela, how she'd claimed to be their Warlord. Made sense now. If they were being led by a literal child, then maybe they were too busy dealing with their internal issues to take care of their coyote problem.

Vanity then offered to help, sharing some good advice, and he watched with rapt interest as she lowered her muzzle and ran her tongue over the ground. Wasn't something Dragomir ever would've thought to do, but it was effective. Her warm tongue and breath laved away the thin layer of blowing snow, revealing an ice-encrusted print underneath. Where'd you learn to do that? he couldn't help but to ask. Meanwhile, he loped along the trail, pausing a couple feet along to try Vanity's tactic for himself.

He seemed so shocked that she could track. Any hunter should know how in all weather and terrains. But, alas, he was young and eager to learn so it was acceptable.
"My home in the far south. I've come a long way from there."

She smiled meekly, but he was too busy testing out her tactic.
"Don't melt too much snow otherwise you'll lose the track." It took some time to perfect the technique and there were often variations in how quickly the snow melted.
"Melt it gently."

She moved to him to see how he was doing and to give him any pointers in reading a track if he asked, but even to a youth it would be obvious if something wasn't right with it. Even an unskilled hunter.

Wherever the far south was, they had some pretty strange customs. Dragomir wasn't about the judge, but this was an unusual method of tracking if he ever saw one. It reminded him a little bit of Moriko, who found prey in underground tunnels by feeling vibrations in her paws, a feat Dragomir had yet to manage. In fact, he never would manage it, and it was likely he would never perfect Vanity's technique, either, because the track had almost completely disappeared beneath the lave of his tongue.

The art of delicately removing fresh snow from an iced over imprint just wasn't his forte, he guessed.

It's okay, he said, although he couldn't help but to frown at his failure. Vanity must have an incredible amount of self control to be able to do this well. I can sorta smell the tracks anyway, and you can see them when the wind blows sometimes. The blowing snow diverted around the raised edges here and there, bringing the tracks into sharp relief if only for a moment. I think this one might be injured. I noticed one of the paws seems to be dragging a bit. Trekking several feet forward in the snow, Dragomir lowered his nose and then found one of the tracks he was referring to. He gestured for Vanity to take a look.

She agreed and the pair continued following the tracks until they located the injured coyote. It put up a bit of a fight but it was no match for the two wolves, who dispatched it, took some flesh for their respective packs, and parted ways.