Oh Deer

Autumn again.

Autumn meant it was time to fatten the pack to get them through the winter, and this year more than last it was going to rest more heavily on Mask. Many of the pack's wolves had been severely injured in the raid, the only other dedicated hunter being blinded completely. He didn't have much sympathy to spare for the girl, being too practical-minded to waste time and energy on pity. She would either find the strength to move forward in her life and still be useful, or not. Either way, she wouldn't be any help this season. Neither would the pack's young wolves, apparently, since his training session with them had been thoroughly disrupted by the disappearance of some of the strangely-colored youths and he'd been unable to keep the attention of the remainder long enough to teach them anything.

An unfamiliar prey scent crossed his current path, and Mask stopped to sniff at it with a furrowed brow. It was like a mule deer, but with a strange musky scent he had never encountered before, neither here nor his homeland. The tracks showed the creature was crippled, though, with one hindleg dragging heavily behind it. They could ill afford to pass up the opportunity to take easy prey right now, not with winter coming on quickly.

A cold gust of wind ruffled his fur the wrong way. It was a stark reminder to Mask that they would need the meat, unfamiliar prey or no. Lifting his muzzle to the sky, the sole pack hunter sang out for any members of the pack that were able to join him in a hunt.