Enough running

He didn't know how he got on the island. He remembered a large black track. High pitched cries from humans. A sharp sting in his side. Then black. Next he knew, he was on this new land, full of new smells, and new sights.

Pain faded. Fear and Exhaustion remained.

He drew himself to his paws. He was a ways from the beach. Behind him was water, salty, undrinkable. To his left came a cacophony of smells, a mainland of sorts. He would leave it for now. To his right was more beach. More island. But ahead of him...ahead of him, fresh water enticed his nose with promise of a fresh drink. He trotted forward over the ridge of the beach and found a lake spread out before him, gorged on the fresh snow of the changing season. At a half stumble - half run, he made a beeline for the lake and drank. Cold, cool, sharp, but proof that he was in reality and not some strange dream. He rose his head from the lake licking his chops.

Fear and exhaustion gave way to hunger.

The drink sharpened his senses and his nose informed him of rabbit nearby. Not the best of meals, but it was something. He needed to find a river. The lake was too still and any attempt to move or hunt would give him away. His nose led him north to a small hole in the ground. Positioning himself upwind of the hole, he crouched and waited.

Patience. It was the only thing that had got him through life thus far. As much as he wanted to leap and dig at the hole until the rabbit could be torn from it and devoured, he had to have patience. It would leave eventually, and the he could eat. Besides, he hardly had the energy to catch larger game. He would be injured at worst. He would go hungry at best. What seemed to be years passed as he sat there, muscles ready to leap. To catch. But in reality, it was probably only a few minutes before the rabbit peaked out of its hole.

He waited longer, letting the rabbit creep further out from its hole. When it was several yards away he leapt. Powerful hindlegs rocketed him forward not toward the rabbit, but on the path between it and its hole. The rabbit, carried by instinct, made a beeline for a hole at the first sound. Too late it saw the great grey wolf in its path and attempted to correct its course. Einselar snapped it up in his jaws, biting the neck and killing it instantly. He had made the kill

Carrying the rabbit to an area about 100 feet from the lake, he ate, ravenous from who knows how many days without food. It was meager, but it was something. Upon finishing the rabbit, he buried it. Too many days on the run make one weary of pursuers and while it wasn't perfect, it would remove the visual landmark of carrion birds coming to feast. Washing the last traces of his kill from his paws and jaw in the lake, he shook himself and set out to explore the island

After a bit of exploring, Einselar had a map laid out in his head. The lake was the center of the island. To the West was the mainland. He had to avoid that at all costs, at least until he was stronger. He couldn't even be seen from the shoreline.
To the North was a forest. It was home to deer and plentiful rabbits. Hunting grounds for him. There was also a plentiful array of places to hide a carcass. More ways to stay hidden until he found proper disposal or was ready to be seen.

To the East was a small river leading from the lake to the ocean. This would likely be where he could catch fish, the cleanest and easiest way to live unseen, though you had to catch a lot in a day to stay healthy.

Finally, to the south was more land. More area to be avoided. However, there was cover in the form of some rolling hills. There were some goats, but nothing else of note.