She had never seen quite so many foxes in her entire life.

They gathered along the rocky shore of the lake, not just one or two but several. Everything Miskwaa had ever learned had told her that foxes, like herself, were pack animals... But from where she stood, there looked to be at least six adults hovering in front of a small den just by the shore. From within that den there echoed a single, sickly cry, the weakest she had ever heard — what misfortune had befallen the group? Golden eyes blinked, studying the dawn gathering with what was best described as complete and utter confusion. The foxes seemed to be conversing, though none too politely: it seemed to be a gainsay, punctuated by guttural snarls, raised hackles, and lashing tails. 

Slowly, carefully, Miskwaa advanced closer to the group. All around, the creatures of this land seemed to be waking up as the sun climbed over the horizon and ever higher into the sky. The sound of songbirds joined the bickering of the pack of foxes, who seemed unfettered by the disturbance they were causing as well as her approach. Miskwaa was near silent in her movements, ears trained forward with molten gaze steadily watching the family. One misstep over a lose stone, however, gave away her position and the group turned with fiery eyes now trained on her. Unwilling to pick a fight for the sole purpose of sating her curiosity, Miskwaa backpedaled until the irritable group shifted their gazes from her and back to each other. Questions remained but, for the time being, the wolf was not quite willing to obtain answers. 

"Hello." Ears rotated in the stranger's direction, muzzle swinging to the left so she could assess him with great care. The stranger in question was a fair shake bigger than she with a coat colored just like the rocks along the lake shore. He was civil enough in his approach and Miskwaa supposed she should have been thankful that he voiced his approach. She supposed she was, albeit minimally: she remained suspicious of him, taking a small step sideways to create a greater distance between them. It was nothing personal, not really — but were he the sensitive sort, he might have found himself offended by her misanthropic ways. Were he a loner like herself (and he did not smell like other wolves), however, he might appreciate her wariness.

“No.” A simple answer for a simple question. She did not move her golden eyes from him as she spoke, though spared a glance in the direction of the russet creatures as something of an afterthought. The arrival of another wolf had apparently caught their attention and they took a few steps back. The mouth of the den was now exposed with the small canines nearby, growling and yapping in apparently hushed tones. Deciding that the stranger deserved a better explanation, Miskwaa amended, “They seem to be bickering about something. If I had to guess, it probably has something to do with the den.” She jerked her muzzle in the direction of the den, from which there still echoed the strangled cries; they were more sporadic now but they persisted, audible even with the noise of the adults' fighting. Pondering for a moment, Miskwaa decided this stranger could help her solve the mystery and sate her curiosity — or sate her hunger, depending on the type of man he was. Settling her sights on the foxes now, apparently intent to trust the ashen wolf for the time being, Miskwaa asked, “Would you like to chase them off or try to see if we can make a meal out of their stupidity?” Or both, she amended mentally, but seemed unwilling to push the subject of her own hunger in the presence of a potentially dangerous stranger. 

At his response, Miskwaa pondered the situation for a moment. It was hard to draw any definite conclusions based solely on what she witnessed, but she supposed that someone must have failed their duty. It was such responsibility that had brought her to these lands alone, free of the burden of the makeshift family she had created for herself some months ago... A burden, the rusty creature reminded herself; a burden that she had willingly freed herself of.

It had not been a well-liked decision, but it certainly was the smart one.

“They're hardly my foxes... But perhaps we should come back later then and investigate” The invitation was uncharacteristic of her, but the weeks spent on her own had made her weak: she craved intelligent interaction more than she might like to admit. Besides, if they were to hunt together, returning to the den and solving the mystery would be the least of her worries. She spent a moment studying his features after her suggestion, before deciding that her own hunger was far more important than the trivial squabble of the copper-hued canines.

Sweeping her gaze over the lake and its not-too-distant shores, Miskwaa pondered the possibilities. It seemed as if the lake brought prey from all around, the cool water coaxing even the most skittish beasts out of the shadowed forests to the stony shores... Or it may have, but the cacophony of the foxes seemed to have deterred potential victims to this watering hole. Of course, there remained the possibility that they could collect something in the lake... “What are your thoughts on beaver meat?” Her words were idle and curious, marked by a snort to voice her own distaste.

At his response, Miskwaa merely shrugged, not caring to correct him for a second time. It was mere politeness on his part, though she wished to stubbornly tell him that a whole band of foxes could not possibly be hers. If she were honest, the man's insistence may have been flattering... It was not often that Miskwaa found herself in control of much of anything, after all; she preferred to fly under the radar whenever possible as it seemed the best possible way to avoid unfriendly competition. In this instance, however, it seemed as if there would be no rivalry — for the time being. Though he was polite, the stern set of her face betrayed her unwillingness to be too trusting of strangers.

All the same, a bit of civility couldn't hurt the situation. “Nice to meet you, Veho. Call me Miskwaa.” She gave a slight dip of her muzzle in greeting, deciding to perhaps not be quite so formal — his introduction had made it seem as though he preferred it this way. For a moment, she allowed her eyes to flicker and meet his own as she remarked rather dryly, “Beggars can't be choosers, as they say — and, like yourself, I'm not in the position to be choosy.” It was perhaps unwise to be so candid with the stranger, but she supposed that he seemed pleasant enough for now. If anything, the man would view her weakness as something he must remedy — kind people had a tendency to think that way, after all... And if not, she assured herself as she averted her gaze, she could surely hold her own if he revealed himself to be an unsavory character.

With introductions taken care of, Miskwaa turned so as to make her way to the opposite shore of the lake, trotting briskly along the pebbled shore. Every so often, she'd spare a glance over her shoulder to ensure that her new comrade was keeping time and maintaining the distance they had silently agreed upon some minutes before. There seemed more possibilities than she had been originally aware: to their left, a small pool jutting from the lake's edge, within which wiggled a few fish; straight ahead, a beaver meandered about the shore, apparently gathering something of import. Stopping shortly, Miskwaa tilting her mug in his direction and said with the smallest beginnings of a smirk, “Guess it's your lucky day: fish or beaver?” The beaver would provide a bigger share of food, but would no doubt prove more difficult; conversely, the fish would be simple enough to catch, but could they really sate the two wolves' hunger? If he was to help her, Miskwaa decided it was only right that he have some input.

The mention of his weakness was met with a short snort of laughter, eyes bright with the glimmer of amusement. The first year of her life had been spent essentially surrounded by water in some form or another: winding rivers, massive lakes, shallow ponds. The past year of her life had been spent travelling more barren terrain, but fishing had once been such a quintessential skill that she found it odd for one to be incapable. And as pleasant as the stranger may have been, Miskwaa hardly obliged to actually teach the man how to do so; it was a burden that she was unwilling to bear for one who could not offer her something equally as useful.

“Beaver it is then,” she responded brusquely and paused but a moment to consider his suggestion with a preprandial rumble of her stomach. The issue at hand lie in how much she trusted the stranger: was he capable of actually intercepting the creature, slow as lond-ridden beavers were? And when he did that, would he still be content to share when he had the carcass in his jowls? No, this was indeed not a risk she was willing to take. “I'll kill it. When I give you the signal, go ahead, alright?”

That said, Miskwaa waited but a moment for the man's agreement before turning slightly, trotting easily along the bank in a wide arc that gave the beaver plenty of room so as not to spook it. Not a minute later she had doubled back so as to face him, the forest not far behind her. The beaver seemed unaware of Miskwaa's movements as she readied herself, legs spreading slightly so she could spring upon the creature when Veho took action. She spared the male a glance and jerked her chin upwards, signalling her preparedness before focusing her attention on the bulky mammal with slightly parted jaws.