Deadliest Catch, Season 20

The words exchanged between the wolves bring a glimmer of a smirk to his charcoal muzzle. Fuck around and find out were just the type of wolves he found best to hang around. His gaze would stay trained on the target before them. Their beady eyes glazed over with pure gluttony as they lounge along the shore. Snorting and blubbering about without a care in the world. Of course, because in their world, the walrus is king. No beast dare to hunt down such a fearsome animal.

Except for a pack of wolves.

Doing his own calculations, he can tell the others have hunted together before. He can see that it would be best to take up the rear and do what he can where he can. Learn their ways, how they hunt as a group, no need to get impatient and try to be the biggest damage dealer. Wilder waits, watching and breathing, flexing and relaxing his muscles until the one girl takes off first.

His vermilion gaze tracks her movements for a moment before he follows her lead. Paws in line with the others, racing ahead, masked by the egregious sounds of the walrus attempting to appear larger and stronger than the others. Wilder notices the others going toward the nape, the spinal cord, the sensitive areas that will quickly lead to its death while avoiding the dangers of its tusks and massive head.

Taking strides toward the rear of the walrus, Wilder lunges forward toward the animal's tail. Paws digging in to keep his balance, head diving forward, teeth sinking into blubber, gnashing and tearing away at the thinner, sensitive skin. If he can take away its balance, render it unable to flop or move around, it would make the other's jobs eaiser.

WILDER