The ramble had turned a bit longer than he’d previously hoped – but he would return in a day or two, when his mind had sorted itself out.  The Mother was much easier find in the untamed places of the world, and Kjors intended to sort things out with his deity before moving back to the home he’d carved out for himself.

Perhaps the river had other ideas – once a creek, the banks were now spilled over, a result of warming temperatures and melting snow.  He was, however, quite happy to see the white menace go.  Moving towards the chilly waters, the older wolf stretched his limbs and curled his tail.  It was time for breakfast, and there was fish to be had.  Wading into swirling waters, he found his footing slowly, wary of slippery rocks once covered with moss, now made to be a trap for unsuspecting paws.  Plenty of fish of all shapes and sizes darted by, almost unaware of his presence as they raced up stream – for a place to spawn, a place to mate?

’Tis the season, the male thought dryly, tail out straight as he balanced himself.  Likely he would have more than once chance, but truly, Kjors didn’t fancy breaking a leg over a morsel.  Patience, here, was key.