It was too damn early! Usually demons would need to posses Orren Baranski, to make him wake up this early, he was much more accustomed to staying up late and sleeping in. But he was also a hunter, and as such he needed to be on his feet and ready to change as swiftly as his prey. With winter now holding the Lore in its firm grip, every kill counted, and so did every missed opportunity; I can't afford to miss! So he needed to take advantage of every possibility, which meant stalking the herds when they least expected it, like in the wee hours of morning.

So, hidden by the darkness, Orren crept from the den, slinking down along the river, with his nose stuck to the ground. He was looking for traces of any deer who might have stopped to drink during the night. The trouble with prey was that it was used to being chased, in any place, at all times of day, so catching anything off guard was exceptionally difficult. The yearling often wondered when these animals got any sleep, since it seemed they were always ready to run the moment he came upon them. As big of a deterrent as that was, he could not afford to give up, the pack depended on him; And I will not disappoint! No matter how many early days that meant.

Even as he moved away from the center of the territory an neared the borders, the young man continued to follow the river, it was his best bet. Say this for winter, at least its limited resources made it easier to guess where there would be prey; With most of the smaller waterways frozen, the animals were forced to seek out the wide, swiftly flowing river, to sate their thirst. And when they did so, they left behind distinct marks of their presence, droppings, scent and, most importantly; Tracks! So every time the driven tracker came across a disturbance in the muddy snow, he paused to investigate. Some were old and stale, some left by other members of the pack…

But then, at the very edge of the territory, he came across something peculiar: Another spot where the powder had been drenched and the mud unsettled, a faint trail leading away, into the land. But there was no scent, nothing but the water, the cold air and the mist. Curious and confused, Orren veered from his trek along the river, following the tracks of wet feet in the light snow cover. They were too blurred to tell what had left them, and the further they got from the water, the harder they were to see. Perhaps a better trained eye could have told more, but, despite his dedication, the young hunter had years to go yet, in mastering his craft. But he was stubborn, so he tried, and when the tracks finally disappeared, he caught whiff of a scent, one that made his hackles prickle; WOLF! And not a wolf he knew. His pace became faster as he followed his nose now, rather than his eyes, and he was not chasing a meal, but an intruder!

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