Hunting with Grandma

Mortis had known that the gruff but loving older woman would help him if he asked it of her. Today was the morning of the hunt she agreed to. He had gotten from his den, bright eyed and bushy tail, and almost beaten her to the border. But there she was, waiting for him. With a grin, and a kiss to her cheek, the younger wolf would follow her instructions to the letter. He didn’t want to make her think twice about this.

They made their way out of the pack, and towards the Northern territories. He bounded along behind her with endless energy, his companions at his feet, or in the case of the kea, on his shoulder.

“What are we going to hunt Grandma, are we there yet?” he had managed to keep his questions quiet for most of the journey, but in his excitement, they began to burst out.

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