Firefly Glen everything moves in circles

set in the glen but heading towards whitewater gorge; hunt rolls here (roll failed)

He rested for a short time among the pines, but inevitably could not fall in to a real sleep. The ache in his hip was one thing, the hunger another; together Njal knew he could not rest properly, so he got to his paws and tried to warm up his tired muscles. He paced around the territory, and his path spiraled out from the forest and on to the southern plains — he had no intent to do anything aside from go for a stroll, and yet, he found himself drifting far from the borders. His sluggish pace eventually carried him east. Njal stopped, though, when he saw a sharp tug of movement in his periphery.

There was some kind of ungulate. An aging deer, or elk, or something, although it was too far for his old eyes to make heads-or-tails of. The figure was tall and broad, but its head was low, and there was an obvious hunger to it. The creature raised its head and peered directly at him, yet did not run. Perhaps it was deciding if the effort would be worth it? Njal knew he would not be able to take down anything large on his own, and he presumed the old deer recognized a similar helplessness in itself. They were both such old things now. So it kept on trying to munch at the new shoots springing from the ground, and Njal followed after it, slow and curious, but hardly a daunting opponent.

The bull's scent danced along on the wind, luring Jem out of the treeline and into the open plains. He was a stranger in this land, drawn here by the presence of his own kind, yet overwhelmed with the sheer enormity of the land they occupied. He barely made a footprint in these beautiful Wilds, yet he had been wandering for days. Pack territories were close; at night, he heard their howls rising over the trees. At this very moment, he could be trespassing and not even know it. It was something that should have made him cautious; but today he was hungry — and hunger made him stupid.

Mouth slack and salivating, Jem drew closer, soundless but hasty in his movements. He flinched to a stop as the bull's  head suddenly lifted, and instinctively he dropped to his belly, ears twitching around in their search for answers. Did the elk see him? Smell him? He shouldn't have — Jem was downwind after all. Ah, no. There, a little ways off, a mottled grey figure had caught the bull's attention. Jem's eyes narrowed at the fellow wolf. Even from a distance, he could see the irregular way the male carried himself. He was clearly injured or very old. "Or both." Jem concluded, noting the rather raggedy condition of his fur. He shook his head. If hunting was what the old man intended, he was going to get himself killed.
 
The bull mosied on ahead, and that was enough to shift Jem's attention. Still lying flat, Jem didn't immediately move to follow, but instead held back and watched as the elderly wolf continued to trail behind. This could be interesting. If the old man really sought to attack his "prey", it might be worth seeing how it played out. Perhaps Jem wouldn't even have to lift a paw for a meal today.

The probability of any lone wolf - even an esteemed hunter with such experience, like Njal - taking down a full grown bull moose was laughable indeed. It would take at least the entire rank-and-file of the Neverwinter to do any decent harm to it. Even in a weakened state, it was dangerous. Perhaps more-so because of the desperation worrying it to the very core. Njal followed the moose as it began to drift away, although his pace was sluggish. He was curious of the creature; perhaps he could wait it out? Worry it, frighten it, keep it from finding any sort of meal, and watch it starve? It was a long con. The wait would be worth it, but Njal was not so patient these days.

As he stiffly drifted after the target, he remained oblivious to the other wolf. This rival who lurked, who watched, waited, and planned. Njal wasn't going to charge after the hungry moose, but he might chase down another wolf if provoked. It was a good thing then, that the old man's fleeting attention was zeroed-in on the ungulate.

He was never very good at playing the 'waiting' game. This was torture. Minutes were passing by in uneventful silence, and at this point it only seemed destined to continue. Jem shifted impatiently to his side, drumming an irritated tail on the grassy earth, yet continuing to observe as the two senior citizens advanced slowly across the glen. He yawned, grunted a noise. Well, this little venture wasn't going to result in anything, it was quickly becoming obvious. Perhaps it was time to take matters into his own paws.

Jem pushed himself into motion, falling into a hunter's stance. He held his body low and tense, moved along quite efficiently along the ground...that is until the short-cropped grass gave way to mud beneath his paws. It was wet and sticky, and almost immediately his  paws became soaked through. Then, he slipped. With no time to catch himself, Jem fell awkwardly on his belly, his legs having effectively slid out from under him.

The moose abruptly halted, lifted his massive head, and turned as if to regard Njal. But his eyes seemed to see through the old wolf, and the feeling he felt upon meeting those empty eyes was unsettling. He felt shaken. There was a sound behind him though, a wet sound, and Njal turned his head to figure out what it was, his body stationary. The moose carried on a moment later — seeing how distracted Njal had become — and his trailing of the moose was ended. Behind him sat a muddied wolf. Younger than himself (but everyone around here was young, he thought bitterly), and foolish enough to tempt fate. Perhaps he had seen the moose as well and thought to chase it? Maybe he was tailing Njal. Either avenue of thought only caused the man to bristle, and he stalked closer to the boy, and leveled a bored expression towards him.

Havin' fun there, kiddo? Njal decided he rather liked calling everyone out on their youth, whether they were yearlings or grown adults. It made him feel... Hm, he wasn't sure. Some kind of good. He wasn't all that bothered that the moose had gone on its way, knowing it would've probably taken the rest of his sad little life to keep up with it, to watch it die, just to stuff his face with the tough meat of an ancient bull.

Well that did it. Grumbling and growling in the mud, Jem hardly cared to notice that all eyes had turned on him, but he felt the wolf's presence as he drew near, smelled the musk of his coat and the unfriendliness that he radiated. The young wolf's ear twitched as the older male acknowledged him -- the only indication that he was listening. For now, he would let the "kiddo" part slide. At this point, he was still on his belly, chin resting in the mud and an irritation on his face that made it clear that no, he was not having fun. Of course, that detail didn't need to be admitted out loud.

"Not as much fun as you, I'm sure." He muttered instead, matching the male's "enthusiastic" expression with one of his own. For a moment, he held the wolf's gaze, neither nesessarily defiant nor submissive -- just a hard gaze to prove that he could hold his own. His legs ans stomach were sodden and sticky with mud, the stuff practically glued him to the ground. With some difficulty, he managed to push himself into a standing position, grunting as he ripped some fur loose from his sensitive skin. He eyed the old man. "And the name's Jeremiah. I'll thank you to address me as such from now on." Got it?

He watched the boy struggle to his feet, marveling at the way in which the mud marbled his chest fur, sticking it up in tufts or matting it in tangled messes. Some fur was left behind, which Njal glanced at, but he made no remark. His ears cupped the air as the boy spoke again, and this time Njal let out a small snort, amused by his attitude.

Neh, alright. Jerry. It didn't matter much to Njal. He wasn't bothered by much these days aside from his own aching body, or the growing hunger in the pit of his belly; but not even the absence of that old bull peturbed him. If anything it was Scimitar who would be agitated with this kid, seeing as that bull could have fed everyone for days on end - pack wolf or not - and the Neverwinter wolves were in great need, seeing as they had two litters to care for. Njal strode back the way he had come, stepping around Jeremiah in the process, and began to sniff at the earth and the air in search of another meal. As he idled, he murmured, think you owe me breakfast, Jerry.