To Die For

Fur softened the sound of his paws brushing against a patch of dry grass along the mountainside, using the backside of those massive mits to crawl under softened tone. He knew that these were pack lands and was doing his best not to gain any attention from the wolves that lived here. This was his first time gaining the courage to cross any pack's borders, though the reasoning was well enough. Wyrm was starving, it'd been over a week since the growing colossal beast had any sort of sustenance put in his system. He knew these wolves had food and he was old enough now to be confident in his abilities to stay hidden, especially considering he'd been handed at birth a natural cloak to disappear in the night.

And, well. He'd just die anyway if he didn't try.

Wild, oilslick eyes were wide and alert, those impish ears standing tall on his crown. The teen titan was already standing tall at 40" now that he was nearing the cusp of his first birthday. It was quite ridiculous really, though he was quite obviously skinny under all that fur during this stage of growth. He hadn't a clue how to fight, having gotten as far as he has in life so far by remaining unseen and in the shadows, only moving at night (the sun was far too unforgiving on his pitch black coat). Fur was still damp from his attempt to slip into the mountain runoff rivers and mute it with a quick bath, though he was beginning to smell strongly of wet dog. He wasn't sure if his efforts worked.

Nose brushed through tall grass as he kept close to the denser areas of pines along the mountainsides. He continued to crawl, an acute sense of smell mostly developed and already geared toward food. He could smell the faint scent of old blood, there was either a kill here or a wounded wolf.. he couldn't tell, but he had half a mind to accept the possibility of either.