fever pitch

He had come to like the southern continent, preferring it to the far-busier northern one even when the summer heat became stifling. It was safer here where you could lose yourself for weeks or even months without seeing another wolf. There were various tribes of wolves scattered loosely over the continent, he knew, but they tended to be primitive and shy compared to the demanding gregariousness of northern wolves. They were easy enough to miss seeing even if you were looking for them.

Drowsing within the shadowed confines of his temporary tree-den as he waited for night to fall, Enrico came suddenly awake at the crunch of last year's leaf-litter beneath paws. Warily, he watched as a dog crossed through the golden beam of afternoon sun outside his den. He had made no real effort to hide himself, trusting in the shadows in the hollowed tree to allow his gray coloring to camouflage him. This wasn't his usual den, simply one of many hollowed trees he'd made note of near his various preferred hunting grounds to rest in so it wasn't as important to keep his presence completely unknown, but it would be a pity to have to sacrifice one of his safe-houses if the dog happened to stumble upon him here.