The lone wolf had picked up the scent of a chipmunk and was half-considering abandoning his quest for the tiny snack when a small squeak caught his attention. Lifting his head, pointed ears pivoted in the youngster’s direction, head tipping to one side as he watched Cottongrass alert, and return to his target. He didn’t waste a single moment, trotting over to the site and putting his wet nose to the ground. Yeah, that was about right. Apotheosis of marmot stink right there; pleased, he bumped one shoulder into the yearling.
“Good,” he muttered, drawing back. “Now we gotta be careful. Don’t wanna lose the damn thing. Think y’can catch it if I scare it out? ‘er you rather do the scarin’ and I’ll do the catching?”