Chicken Butt

He padded quietly through the mist, traveling along the base of the wall and reapplying scent where it was needed. With as few as they had left in the pack, these patrols were far more intensive. Small numbers could be viewed as an easy target for enemies, and he found the thought of yet another raid unpleasant.

He certainly agreed with Aurielle’s assessment that the pack would need more wolves. He’d been thinking that for a while. Apart from Amos, they hadn’t had new faces in a while, and now, with Mask having ventured out on his own to lead a pack, they had no wolves that were primarily hunters in the pack.

That wasn’t to say they would all starve in a fortnight, of course. Between himself, Paladin, and Aurielle alone, there was enough meat coming in to feed the mouths they had left.

As if the mere thought of meat summoned it, a prairie hen burst up from the heather, almost at his nose, startling a snarl from the crimson male. He lunged forward, never one to pass up opportunities when they leaped right in his face, and in one snap of his jaws and a squawk, the surprise chicken dinner was had.

He dropped the kill and stared at the bird, head cocked as he asked of the entirely un-answering fowl, “Bit far east, aren’t you?”

A shake of his head followed the query as he picked up the bird and padded to a small cache of stones against the inner base of the wall. He stowed the bird there, then turned and began to continue his patrol.