One day I'll know how far I'll go

The Crimson Archangel stepped aside, watching with interest as Mask set forward, and felt a firm sensation of approval in his gut as the slim monotone male forged ahead, with Regulus quietly ghosting behind at a distance and taking notes.

He could tell very quickly that Mask’s declaration of being proficient at hunting was no understatement. Tracking was more than just using your nose. It was the use of your eyes and ears, and reading the signs left in the land by your quarry. A broken twig there, a droplet of blood here—all part of a story a skilled tracker could read. And all very essential to what he had planned for wolves like Mask here.

Mask was efficient, and Regulus felt certain that he wouldn’t remain a mere hunter for any longer than a year, if even that. For now, though, he was waiting for a distinct moment where a fresh scent would overlay the old, and likely catch Mask’s attention.