Clay

In the autumn light the red and gold tones in his fur shown in gleaming patches as his shoulders shifted while digging for snails on the bank of the river. This new territory had a lot of opportunities for a resourceful wolf, and he had been shown this trick by one of the adolescent females in the pack when he first arrived, his clever and quick wit caught on immediately and he also ventured to try fishing whenever one would come a bit too close to the bank where he was digging. Today a large trout happened to be curious of the snail carnage he'd left in his wake and he paused what he was doing to fix on the fish, it undulated side to side and caught the late afternoon light on its scales and had him hypnotized. His movements were so slow, and so silent, you would mistake it for stillness. All at once a bolt of electricity shot from his nose to his tail and he lurched forward, snapping at the water. Instantly his jaws felt flesh between them and his body surged with excitement before he'd even realized he caught the fish. Slowly and methodically he stepped back towards the grass and lowered his head to the ground, snapping the fish into a more secure position. Satisfied, he couldnt help but lift his tail and snort in anticipation as he headed back to the pack to show off his accomplishment.

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Together on the trail, yards apart, they ran and kept their ears turned towards eachother. Breath, breath, breath, he timed his with the lead hunter, his lead. Breath, breath, breath he could sense the tiniest changes in the Stalker's trajectory, they were each flanking the elk and funneling it, with the help of the rest of the pack, into a densely brushed area where Maple hid to spook it into tripping up. Through the snow their breaths filled the air at the elk's flanks, the pumping muscles barely a tooth away. Suddenly they heard the rustle and snap of Maple's ambush and Breath and Clay both were sunk into the elk's rear, pulling and tearing even as it struggled and whipped itself around to try sinking an antler into ribs. Pigeon and Root had caught up by then and in tandem snapped and lunged at the elk's head, overwhelming it into confusion, Maple latched onto its neck, Pigeon snapped the skin behind its elbow in her jaws, drawing a spurt of hot blood and a grunt from the elk. Root kept up the relentless taunting and dancing around the exhausted buck's head, never allowing its antlers to graze his packmates. The buck let out a rattling bugle as its body finally lowered completely into the snow. The wolves became quiet as they commenced eating, snow falling gently around them, gradually covering the kill with a white dust, in places turning into bloody slush.

Eating together at the rear of the carcass Clay looked up at Breath and saw his white mask splashed with blood and felt exhilarated at the sight of it, the blood of the buck was the blood of the pack, all of them united this way. That blood splatter he later licked tenderly off Breath's face when they returned to the cave.

He woke to a cold spot near him, dreaming about the hunt again in a way that startled him awake. He recalled Breath with his face smeared red and quickly rose with a whine. Sniffing and following the trail he already felt the heavy weight of loss in his gut. He left the cave just before sunrise, and within the hour found the body of his friend and lover lying on the spring moss under a shady tree. Clay lowered his head and gently nuzzled his friend, suppressing the urge to lie down with him to warm his body again. He lifted his head and let out a low, smooth, and consistent note of grief, moments later one by one his pack howled back, all of them taking a piece of their friend's soul into themselves.