Redtail Rise LXVII

a late snow blew across the withers of the hunt-lead as he patrolled.

his pups grew. his pack held.

he chased after a shadow of a passing hawk only for the exuberance of it, running until he could go no further, tongue lolling and yellow eyes bright with his contentment in such a homeland as the rise.

His attempt at climbing the rise was abruptly cut short by the intrusion of a hare; it had moved erratically, perhaps hoping that its arrhythmic movements would further camoflague it. The pursuit had been just as inevitable as it was graceless -- a mad, point-blank dash without much strategy -- but a misstep had sent him sprawling down the slope. He scraped his paws against the rock as he fought to regain his balance.

The fall had not been very steep, nor from such a great height, but it left him shaken. It reminded him that there was yet room for calibration, to become accustomed to the Rise's topology, and most importantly, to strip away the layers of comfortable assumption. Everything required a measure of caution.

Gavrel approached the grey man, acutely aware of his own bruised shoulder. For a moment he openly wondered how a such a large wolf -- a large anything -- could move with such ease.

slender and golden with a curling scar, the new male stood apart from their crimsons and paler shades.

the dove-grey ears dipped forward. a rumbling chuff beckoned the new man as mountain boulder observed the soil upon his coat.

the broad muzzle extended, nostrils flaring and breath friendly, prepared for an exchange that would parse the stories for one another.

They exchanged scents, each tailing the other in a semi-circle like koi fish.

He appraised the rippling muscle beneath his silvered coat, and the face that looked upon him without the knife-edge of scrutiny. So used to being abraded by the world, Gavrel took an instant liking to the man.

There's a rabbit back there that damn near killed me, he remarked. Shall we go after it?

His voice came out airy and perhaps a touch manic. The adrenaline that had surged in him during his fall had not yet dissipated from his body.

Without waiting for an answer, Gavrel turned to stalk off to the raised lip of rock, tail held high and jaunty.

rabbit. mountain boulder knew this; he lifted his ears.

wide scarred nose said that the new wolf might lead. the huntsman would follow, scrutinizing in his own way.

goldwalker.

mountain boulder followed at an even clip, senses sweeping for lapin trails.

Any rabbit that had been there would be shuttered underground by now, trembling in their warrens. Gavrel had made such a noise, such a fuss.

He glanced at the large man periodically, the unconscious and wild dignity with which he held himself. Almost like a child idolising an adult, Gavrel hoped to emulate the easy but economic strides, the prowling set of his shoulders and neck.

At times like this he felt like an alien come down to earth, taking notes in a clipboard.

Eventually they came close to the stream. It had not rained in some time and in many places the water level was so low it scarcely darkened the stones beneath it. All the same, it teemed with life. A pair of muskrats waded through the shallows on the bank opposite. Their sleek bodies glistened with the midday sun.

he watched the wet animals trudge together around their earthen land, dipping lower as if to compensate for his great height.

the water dampened his scent. mountain boulder nosed its glittering surface and felt the silt beneath his paws.

he would make a greater splash when he leapt. the yellow eyes flicked to goldwalker. what would the other do?

He knew that it would be sooner rather than later that the muskrats would become aware of their intrusion, perhaps through the smell conveyed by the water. Gavrel had always found that scents became intensified with even the slightest addition of moisture -- had always wondered why.

He wet his nose in the stream, then his paws as he entered the water, ankle-deep.

His left eye honed in on the youngest one, separated by a yard or so from its presumed parents. It grazed at the water-logged vegetation on the banks, still oblivious.

A triplet of ducks, further downstream, noticed Gavrel before the muskrats did. They visibly tensed but did not yet flee -- and the muskrats, following their example, began to scrabble for an exit.

But Gavrel had already jumped forward, leaving two gouges in the mud where his hind paws had braced themselves. These wells filled up with silt almost as soon as he became airborne, briefly, before his front paws broke the surface of the water, disrupting all things laminar.

There was a frantic dash. His wake resembled the pattern of a skipping stone. His snapping jaws managed to wound it, catching its sinewy tail for a moment before it slipped again out of his grasp. But the wolf persisted.