Silver Creek teenagers scare the living sh*t out of me

He came racing through the trees— a conundrum of fluidity and nervous tension all at once. The wolf  took notice of the sharp scent in the air foretelling water, and thought, 'the snow will turn to rain soon'.

He was not smelling water because of an oncoming storm. There was a creek nearby. It flowed between the trees despite the snow coating the wilderness. The wolf came crashing through the shallows completely by accident. His paws sank in to the half-melted snow between the ferns. As this happened his face contorted in to a look of dissatisfaction; he took the time to lift each paw and give it a shake.

It had been a few weeks since he'd been fortunate enough to find another living soul. The creek was devoid of life at the moment; yet, the wolf had taken notice of scents throughout the woodland. He dipped his head to take a quick drink from the creek's edge, and began to roam again. The haradrim was not going to be cornered here if he could help it.

As much as he enjoyed the life in solitude, Epic -- like any other lone wolf -- was fighting for survival. During the harsher winter conditions, prey became more scarce and days passed by without food. He felt his stomach rumbling, his fat reserves (if he had any) depleting by the second. Since prey became more scarce, he had to eat at every opportunity that nature presented to him; even if it meant preying upon decayed mice, bones and measily leftovers. He realized he had to polish his social skills, make friends with strangers or at least an alliance with likeminded lone wolfs if he could. After all, while joining a pack might be a smarter option; he knew yet too little of the packs that roamed here in the wild.

Thus he decided to follow the opportunity to meet another wolf on the paths less travelled. While the snow might left a trail of his paw prints, it would be covered soon as more snow would fall from the sky. Instead it would be the scents of the wolves that betrayed the presence of another wolf nearby. Epic was extra alert, his ears stood erect and his eyes carefully scanned the vicinity. All other scents were slowly fading away, telling him these lands were not often threaded by wildlings (pack wolves) or wild wanderers (lone wolves) alike. 

From a distance his eyes fell upon a wolf taking a drink from the creek. So that's who the lone wolf was, huh? Hey! His voice was brought in a slow whisper. Epic's facial features showed his careful nature yet with a message of friendly intentions. At the same time he kept his distance, because, you never could tell...