The Bracken Woods broken bearings

the yearling shivered in the dark, huddled among a mess of dead, damp branches of long-dead bushes of thorns as if that might offer him warmth. he knew he ought to find something better, something that one could call shelter without laughing — but he couldn't go on. he just couldn't. not after...
this time it was a shudder that wracked him. the dark-furred boy curled up tighter and wished for morning. morning would bring warmth, and new hope. that was what he told himself, anyway.

Aiolos would trail the scent of a bull four hours now and he seemed he was still hours behind. The sea faring man was not yet anywhere near the hunter he wanted to be for his family. Far from the sea and now far from the large lake which made up most of his home, the fisherman was far beyond his comfort zone. Trailing a scent wad hard enough- through feets of snow? Worse. 

It didn't take much to loose track, his nose carrying him elsewhere. Towards the scent of another wolf- male, young. The red man drew nearer, smelling the other but not seeing him huddled in the brush for warmth. Aiolos woofs out a greeting and waits.