The swirl of heavy moisture laden fog concealed him almost as well as the blackness of night. Within the gray grasp of the near colorless forest he was not much more than a silent shifting shadow – which was the best thing to be when hunting. He'd always been an adept hunter and as he had aged he'd grown into more than that. The months spent living in the Haze Woods at Hush's side as nothing more than a free wold unlinked to the rest of his species had taught him even better to be a solitary hunting wolf. He'd grown to prefer the depth of the forest as a place to catch his meals.


This place seemed ideal, though the area was unfamiliar to him and he knew that he would need a little luck and most likely quite a bit of trekking through challenging terrain it seemed his best shot at bringing down a good meal. His stomach twisted at the thought, it had been two days since his last meal and he knew that if he did not eat soon that the hunger pains he was all too familiar with would set in. Hush too needed to be fed and while she did not rely on him entirely for food she was still something of a responsibility to him, as family or pack often are.


When he'd entered the forest the day had been light and sunny with the promise of humid heat to come in the afternoon hours – but beneath the canopy of impossibly tall trees everything was twilight-hour dim, the lack of sunlight washing the color away from verdant plant life and thick foliage. The trunks of the trees were oddly gray and the thick fog seemed to be something that was perpetual in this place. He could feel the tough outer guard hairs of his pelt growing wet and heavy with dew from the air.


Eventually he did cross a well used game trail and carefully he selected the cusp of a nearby rise to lurk behind as he watched with pale sharp blue eyes – keen on any movement, ears pressed forward seeking the soft rustle that would give away the approach of another living being (if any luck belonged to him it would be a hare or another small prey animal, easy enough to bring down on his own).

The simple, easy peace that hunting brought him was a welcome distraction from the hovering duties of his life. It was a kind of relief to his mind to pour his conscious thought into the stalking of potential prey. All other things were put on hold to listen intently with quivering ears and to see through shifting shadow with keen eyed stare. He imagined intensity in the grit of the earth beneath his roughly calloused paw pads and the stirring of his coat in the slight breeze made his skin prickle in response.


Soft shifting noise indicated approach, perhaps – though it was too faint to make out. Easily it could have been the lazy twirling of leaves tossed on their stems by the passing wind. His eyes saw nothing, only the occasional drifting dapple of sunlight as it peeked through the barely moving trees. If there was something to be seen below it was hiding well enough to stay anonymous. Still, though his certainty was shaded by doubt, he remained alert – searching for the potential source of any sound.


Then, as if from nowhere, a wolf appeared from the shadow in the small valley below him. He knew, almost reflexively, that she was the cause of the earlier near-whisper noise he'd heard, but he could not fathom why she would suddenly reveal herself to him in such a way. Then the reason came skittering from the underbrush, darting toward him blinded by it's fear: a hare, the very thing he'd been waiting for.


It raced up the hillside toward him, closing the distance between them so quickly that he barely had time to respond to it's flight. The connection that this stranger was attempting to help him in his hunting was still being made even as his body replied in kind to the situation. Launching forward he rushed over the ridge of the small hill – practically appearing from nowhere himself. Unlike his new companion he was still almost completely silent as he bore down upon the hapless rabbit.


Within seconds it was over, he hit the hare squarely, crushing it beneath his weight and snapping it's neck with one hard, purposeful shake of his head while he grasped it firmly in his jaws. The only flaw in his motion was the small hitch in his stride, forced upon him by the terrible scar that lined his chest and arced up over his shoulder. Having captured his meal he put aside the important business of eating to address more a more immediate concern: the she-wolf.


Now that he was closer he could see her more clearly, the clever coloring of her pelt had hidden her from his eyes well. He realized with a jolt that her eyes were mismatched, a trait he was well familiar with as it was a hereditary trait carried within his own family (though that particular gene had seen fit to skip him). The silly fleeting thought that she could possibly be some far-flung relative of his did cross his mind, though he did not speak it. Instead he said, "That was a kind thing to do for a stranger." Acknowledging her actions without questioning them openly. He left the comment lingering, the opening to conversation existing should she so choose to take it. He kept his distance, if only out of respect for her. Lone wolves learned to be wary, even of their own kind. He had no desire to crowd her.

Whatever he might have been expecting in reply was not what he received from this currently nameless stranger – apparently she believed that they should be sticking together as a rule, as none of them belonged to any of the rest of their species (at least not at the current time) he rumbled one low noise of amusement. “I'm not sure that most of our free roaming brethren would agree with you.” The words were not intentionally challenging – his tone remained mild with a slight hint of intrigue behind them. He was curious about her and her motives – and if she was without motive then he was simply curious how a wolf who felt that she owed the rest of her kind anything ended up as a lone wolf. He didn't ask, though, merely contemplated it internally.


When she stepped forward – the smallest most non-threatening of steps – he did not shy away from her. Instead he responded to her action by sitting back on his haunches, movements casual and easy despite the way the scar on his chest and shoulder made him shift his forepaws a little strangely to accommodate the new position. Now seated he watched her quietly, patiently – simply awaiting her next move. His posture was easy and open, he did not appear to feel threatened (and the truth was that he knew how to take care of himself, so he didn't exactly feel threatened either) – but at the same time this motion to sit rather than step forward to greet in the regular friendly fashion that most wolves did turned the little meeting between them upside down. Would she boldly step forward to investigate? Would she view this as a rejection or an invitation? It was entirely up to her to interpret.

Jericho hadn't had too many thoughts about he either way, so it was fair to say he hadn't judged her as a fool. Generally his opinions of others took time to form, basic assessment of the other members of his species generally tended to stay within the bounds of their physical capabilities and whether they could be an asset to him (though this lane of thinking was dusty with disuse, as he had no need for it since he had parted ways with Tartok). So mostly he just thought that she was a kind stranger helping out a wolf she didn't really know, making her into something of a mystery.


She took time to think over their situation – or so it seemed to him – and on the snap he liked that, she didn't go rushing in to greet him and she kept her emotions close enough to the chest that he couldn't read them openly. Lingering, she kept the distance between them and aside from a comment about the hypocrisy of the fellow lone wolves she was without words. Had he known that she was brewing in irritation over his own long and perhaps even strange silences he might have been amused, but he was without a clue to her thoughts and so he continued on in irritating stoicism, completely unaware.


When she did speak again he surprised himself with a bark of laughter, loud enough to startle birds in the surrounding trees out of their constant chirping chatter momentarily. Grinning roguishly, perhaps even a little deviously, he responded. “That's fair, maybe all these scars make up for the lack of words. Maybe they tell you more about me than I could ever tell you about myself.” He didn't know if this was true or not, but it was as good of an explanation as any for his lack of words – he couldn't justify to her or anyone else why he spoke less than others. The truth was he'd never thought about it until just now.


As she asked him, all too politely, if he wouldn't mind sharing his simple pragmatic mind merely assumed that she meant the hare – and though the physical possession of the thing belonged to him in his thoughts he had already assigned a portion of it to her. She'd helped to bring it down and thus she owned a portion of it. “Sure.” He said simply, shrugging almost dismissively before leaning to grab the still-warm body of the animal so he could fling it casually into the space between them invitingly. He did not follow after it but remained where he was, it was not the way of the wolf to eat so closely together and even his usually well trained manners would not tolerate such a thing. Though it gnawed at the dominant streak in him he would let her eat first and take what he wished after. It never occurred to him that she might mean she wished for him to share anything other than their mutually-killed meat.