Moonspear they put angels in the electric chair

The weather had gotten chilly. It had happened almost overnight, the tall grasses near the rendezvous site glittered with something he had learned to call frost. @Lyra had explained it in some detail to him, his father too, and it had been a fascinating event to discover along the middle reaches of the mountain.

So it had become a bit of a thing for him to do, to wake early and hopefully before the others, and slip out for a bit of a wander. His ranging was never too extreme and while he had been caught and wrangled back to a safer locale a time or two he found that little by little all the adults about were confident in letting the kids roam a bit more each day.

It was after all, rather impossible to keep them all confined when they were still growing leaps and bounds on the daily. He had noticed how much smaller his parents seemed next to him, or how much closer in height and size he was getting to his elder brothers. There were talks of them hunting formally now and the thought of participation had also set him to honing his own skills when no one was watching.

At least no one important, anyway.

Altair stalked through the grasses in the dim light, weaving and twisting along ruddy paths just like the tendrils of fog that teased his sight and played on shadows. It was here in that wilting growth that he could see the frost glitter and shimmer; how cool it felt on his tongue to taste! But he did not linger on this thought for long as he trailed the winding path of a weasel, actively pursuing it as much as he daydreamed of toting it back home to share for breakfast.

Hydra trailed a far different weasel than the one Altair did. 

Hers was tawny and larger than he had been so many months ago—though there were similarities (presently) between the prey he sought and her son. Like how neither, at this very point in time, in this very second, knew they were being hunted. Hydra did not mind granting her cubs more freedoms, but certainly not without knowing where it was they went so she could have some sort of watchful eye upon them. Growing bigger, sure, but hardly wiser to the savagery of the world. 

She would not shield them from it. Hydra supposed she would let it strike them, so they could know it for themselves—but then she would kill the bastard who dared dream of touching her own. Who might only succeed on one so innocent and naive as a child. 

They had plenty of learning to still do. Hydra tested her son then, keeping downwind and content to simply watch for now. She had no intent to intervene on his quest, and she wondered at his tracking abilities in any event. It was easy to forget the progression of a hunter, so well versed in the trade herself. What was he capable of? ...Soon, he would join them on the hunt—time continued to fly, but she never tired of marveling and watching her children becoming. Quietly, she continued to follow after.

In the silence that enveloped him, he heard the chittering. It was a distant, muffled sound and yet loud enough that he could hear it keenly over the ambient din. Somewhere, it was somewhere, but where? He remembered what his aunt had taught him about hunting grasshoppers; patience. His steps had paused, eyes and ears working together as he scanned over everything in front of him.

It was difficult to stay still, difficult to not quite have a grasp on the anticipation that he had stumbled across something. Though he probably didn’t have a hope or a prayer in catching it, Altair simply marveled at the fact that he had gotten close enough to hear what was going on without having spooked the poor creature into holing up somewhere he couldn’t get to it.

His head turned, tilting one way and then another as he curiously investigated one clot of grass that seemed to be the source of all the ruckus. The chittering had not stopped—no, it had been joined. There was more than one weasel in his vicinity, and neither had quite taken notice of the young wolf who was trying to suss them out without moving a muscle.

But then again, perhaps they simply didn’t perceive him as a threat.

As he paused, so too did she. Hydra was watchful, eyes aglow in the shade the coniferous skirts lent her; she was still, ears leaning further forward to hear. More subdued than he could hear, but Hydra made note of the noise beneath the earth that he investigated. Much of learning to hunt was trial and error beyond observation and lessons taught. She was impressed by his patience... even some weeks prior, Hydra could not imagine him this way. 

She remained where she stood, wondering what he would do next. Hydra would not help this go around unless he asked—but he did not yet seem aware that she was there, yet. Not wanting to intervene, she did her utmost to keep her presence there unknown.