Ever since his arrival one of his favorite activities was lying down in the evening with Breath and smelling the hunt on him, pine sap and blood, drool, adrenaline, even when the hunt failed he always smelled invigorating and full of determination. The hunt leader was old, white masked, and grey muzzled, and beloved by the whole pack, not just for his skill and dedication as a hunter, but his fairness, kindness, and mercy to the hunters and their prey.
The pup was absentmindedly snuffling in Breath's fur and tumbling on top of his back, the elder wolf gave a playful growl and cupped the pup's head in his jaws, to which the pup responded with his own playful yelp and batted at the elder's face with his paws. He was spirited and healthy and he wanted his teacher to see that. They both waited eagerly for the day the pup could join in his first hunt.
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Breath died a week before Riverbed had a chance to join him on a hunt...the aged wolf was very energetic and happy up until the day everyone woke and found him gone. Clay had been the one to find his body, and his howl echoed back to the pack full of grief. Their howls grew together and all felt as though a part of the old wolf's spirit joined their own. Riverbed and Clay slept near to eachother that night, their complimentary sorrow somehow comforting them both.
