Hiccuping laughter could be heard from deep within the forest. The silence of the night was broken by two lanky wolves stumbling through the undergrowth as they shoved and pounced on each other. Atlas Moth had once again convinced his hunting partner, Goliathus, to sneak out and raid the local pawpaw patch. The fruits had been fermenting in the sun for some time now, and Atlas knew they'd be at their peak potency tonight.
In their revelry, they had failed to account for discretion, and soon found themselves nose to nose with Luna Moth, the leader of their hunting team.
"H-hey there," Atlas slurred, "You shoundldn't be out so late... we need to rest up for tomorrow's hunt!" He grinned, affecting a not-so-casual lean against a stump. Goliathus tried his best to look sober as his mate glared at the two of them. If looks could kill, they'd be tomorrow's dinner.
With a look that said, "this isn't over yet," she shoved past Goliathus and grabbed Atlas by the scruff. As she dragged him from the underbrush, he continued to insist he was, in fact, stone cold sober, and he couldn't believe such and injustice was being done to him.
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Atlas Moth and Goliathus work hand in hand on their hunts, shrieking and snapping at the prey like monsters out of hell as the rest of their group laid the trap.
He was a known trouble-maker; he constantly pranked his pack mates, snuck out at inopportune times and couldn't keep his voice down for the life of him. He was very popular with the adolescents in the camp, but not so much with his other packmates.
Hunter 
Hunter