Drake had been traveling for quite some time now, the young Ancora finally leaving the North lands to go his own way, much like his sister had. His father, he knew, was somewhere around with the Band he had pledged himself to until the winter season. The pack as far as he was aware, still resided in the North and his grandmother had recently had a litter and it left him wondering how someone so old could still have babies. Then again, the idea of how babies happened was still a mystery to him, but he didn't think about it too often anyway. Right now, his mind was mainly on finding some food and as luck would have it, his companion emerged from some tall grasses with a rather pleased look on his face. "Drake! I found a small herd of bison over that a way, might make for some good lunch eh?" Clear blue eyes turned to look in the direction the lynx had indicated, a thoughtful look in his eyes as he motioned for the feline to lead. "It does sound good, but I doubt we'll be able to get one with just the two of us..." Unless maybe there was a calf or something they might. But with that still came dangers. He was certain the parents would do everything they could to protect a calf, and he was sure they'd know it would be easier to defend against a single wolf.

The pair approached the herd, and as mentioned, it was a herd of six or seven with a couple of calves in the mix. The alabaster boy watched with longing at them, noting their powerful muscles and thick, shaggy hides and their pointed horns. He frowned in dismay when he realized he couldn't spot a sick one among them. Or even an older one...perhaps hunting one would have been easier if it was sick or old, but they all seemed young and healthy. The young male sat down and observed them, "I don't think we're gonna get one of 'em today, mate. We can't do it on our own, best we move on I think..."

"You know, I bet you could find someone else to help, if you asked real nicely."

The wolf crouching there nearby, grinning at the boy, was of course Chaos. Who else would it be? He'd been observing the herd himself, reminiscing about hours spent as a pup doing the same thing and longing to give chase but firmly forbidden to by his parents. He'd hunted bison later in life with his mother and Vana, before she'd taken off, and before his mother had been too elderly for them to risk it. A single bison was more than just a feast for a few wolves, it was beautiful, glorious gluttony, and the hide was just _amazing_ for winter. When the younger blue-eyed, black and white wolf with his lynx buddy had happened to show up talking about the herd, it had been a sign from a non-existent god that today was the day to take one of the giant beasts.

"Find me a couple more and we'll get ourselves a bison," he added confidently, because while he was just that - confident - he wasn't an idiot. The bison weren't easy prey and he wasn't going to get killed in a stampede for a meal and a buffalo robe. But they would be really nice...

Word Count: 214
Total Word Count: 574

Gryphon's fancy new stiff-legged gait, courtesy of the volcano leaving him trapped with a broken leg beneath debris for the better part of a week before he'd painstakingly dug himself free too late to have the strength to find help to set the bone straight, carried him over the prairie in a painful hobble. His back left leg hadn't every healed properly so the paw was set somewhat at a right angle to where it should have been, and damage to the hip made the joint stiff and difficult as well. Mostly he'd resorted to snares to keep himself fed, which weren't particularly his specialty before he had gotten injured, but he'd certainly made himself get good at it since. He hadn't tried to return to Winterfell even after he'd healed, though many nights he lay awake worrying about his mother, about his brother, and his brother's children. He stayed away not because he didn't want to be near them, but because he refused to saddle them with a cripple. They undoubtedly had good standing in the pack. He wouldn't jeopardize that because he wasn't ever going to be able to be a pack hunter again. He was a three-legged burden with emotional scars who was better off alone and lonely than dragging his family down with him.

Gryphon had been tracking a buffalo herd as it moved through the prairie. He couldn't take down more than a calf alone, but accidents happened even to the mammoth creatures and he'd been able to do some scavenging when the opportunity presented itself. But as if the gloomy recounting of his woes had conjured him, there was the black and white form of one of Dragon's children, the little boy who least resembled him and Dragon. Not that he was a little boy anymore. He'd grown up.

Gryphon recognized the wolf chattering at his nephew about finding other hunters, and scowled darkly. One of Valentine Imperialis's kids, the one he'd seen murder slaver pups. Gryphon's hackles bristled and a silent snarl creased his muzzle as he approached, but his aching stomach gave him an equally fierce reminder that he hadn't eaten in... well, a while, since something had been robbing his snares before he could get to them lately, and he had to swallow painfully to clear his mouth of the sudden surge of saliva at the thought of fresh buffalo. "I will help you," he spoke as he limped up, his voice gravelly from disuse. It was infuriatingly humiliating to reveal his disabled body to his nephew, but the fact was that if he didn't eat he would die, and he wasn't ready to give up yet. With a few healthy wolves to do the bulk of the work he should be able to contribute enough for them to take down a bison together, and he could finally eat again. It would be worth the pain his crippled leg would give him for the next week, to eat. And the fury that the very thought of working alongside Valentine's son. This time.

Word Count: 511
Total Word Count: 1,085