Whitefish River between two points

As he continued on, Mordecai took in what he was seeing with precision. Nothing seemed particularly out of place, bar some of the fresher tracks along the bank. From his location in the shallow water, he couldn't bank on whether or not they were minutes or hours old, but he followed them with his eyes all the same. The last thing he really wanted to stumble across was a hunting party with a fresh kill, though he wouldn't have minded picking at their leftovers if there were any to be had. Maybe that was a throw back to his mother's lineage, that desire to pick over said leftovers. Either way, it was the smartest thing he had up his sleeve at that precise moment, and strode forward with renewed interest at the premise.

And that was the moment that something moved at the edge of his periphery, just beyond the range of distinguishable shape. He paused for a moment, turning his head up the bank and into the foliage as though he could have caught up with whatever had shifted. Nothing changed, and after several beats he gave his coat a good shake and proceeded on. It was likely nothing, he reasoned, some small bit of game that he would never have hopes of catching in the density of growth. It wouldn't have been the first time he had been caught off guard by something along those lines, as squirrels had been notorious for pulling that stunt in more than one thorny situation.

At one point, he began his ascent from the shallow water to the drier ground, joining the prints that he had seen. The passing movement now a thing of the past, he brought his muzzle low to the ground and halted, drawing in the scents of the damp grit and earth. As expected, he recognized none of the results he found. A few more steps produced much of the same, but this was a guise he was willing to keep up for a while. Both for and not for his own good, depending on whoever happened upon him.