That is not to say that she wasn’t scared. Even the greatest warriors of her tribe grew scared sometimes. Father told her that being afraid did not make you weak. Being afraid was a tool for survival. It kept one alive. Fear was useful. Panic, on the other hand, was a terrible thing and could cause even the most level-headed wolves to lose their minds. So Kuwanyauma made sure never to slip into panic.
It had been a few days since she had last hunted, and her meal then had been nothing but a rabbit. She was hungry again. To the west was the ocean, to the east, a mountain range and forest, as well as plenty of other unexplored areas. However, directly in front of her was a winding river whose flow was lazy and looked like a good spot to catch a fish or two. She came forward until she sat along its bank, watching the sun glisten off of its waters.
She observed what fish she could see, swimming close to the surface and darting to and fro when they became spooked. Here she stayed, her hunger temporarily forgotten, entranced by the sun-sparkled water and the playing fish, the breeze that blew through her fur and the sound of the far-off ocean waves…
As much as he tried to stay close to Stavanger Bay, having not fully recovered yet from a month of little food and constant travelling, Atreyu could not help but wander - this time out of the pack territory completely. He had strayed into the grassy fields just beyond the shoreline for a while before rounding back, following a lazy river back to ocean. His pace was as slow as the water, a casual amble as his eyes darted around the area, taking it in. Oddly, now that he had a place to call home, he felt more comfortable exploring, not having to worry about when his next meal was or where he would be able to find the best place to sleep.
His gait having slowed to a snail's pace, the juvenile opted to simply stop walking altogether, flopping onto the bank of the river and rolling in the grass that bordered it. The world spun as he rolled, a glimpse of the sky and then the river, grass, sky again, river...wolf? Jolting upright, the boy suddenly locked his gaze onto the figure on the other side of the river just a little ways downstream. They seemed to be intent on something in the waters. Settling himself into a more alert position, Atreyu continued to stare curiously, eyes flicking from the dark wolf to the river and then back again.
Kuwanyauma became very quickly aware of a young wolf in her presence. Growing up in a tribe where hunting and fighting and tracking were ingrained into pups from a very young age, perhaps even more so than non-tribal packs, she was exceptionally good at picking up scents. She did not alert the other to the fact that she knew he was there. He might run off if she did so and she wanted a chance to study him, even if she did not raise her eyes to look at him.
Slowly, she opened her mouth a little. Most mammals had a scent gland on the roof of their mouth that allowed them to intake a scent and analyze it quicker than with nose alone. As the scent drifted around her mouth, she had an urge to cough. She could immediately smell the infection, however small it was. She couldn’t tell what kind of infection, but she knew it was there. She could smell the salt of the ocean on him, and the telltale scent of a pack — for he had many other wolf smells on him that deviated from his own.
The scent inspection over, she ever-so-slowly lifted her head and locked her gaze onto him, golden-brown eyes staring at him with an intensity that she did not realize she had. She studied him intently, noting the wind-swept fur and the dirty-cream-colored coat and the bright eyes. The infection lay across his right eye. It looked like nothing more than a scrape, but it did not look to be healing well. She decided to keep her distance, not wanting to catch whatever he might have.
She gave a short nod in greeting and then looked away from him at nothing in particular, waiting for any kind of response.