He'd been wandering about, as he usually did, and found a rather curious scent. It was the smell of Poison Path, but all he could remember was that it was familiar. Familiar things were always comforting to him, as if security blankies. From there, he followed his nose, eyes glued to the ground and taking no notice of the trail that grew ominously darker and more narrow the farther along he went. The scent grew stronger each step, and he felt eager to find out what it was, the excitement akin to arriving at the 'X' on a treasure map. A few times he found himself wandering in the wrong direction, and on those occasions, he doubled back, retraced his steps, and tried to pick up the trail again.
When he looked up, he saw nothing interesting. But finding himself hungry, he wandered over to the nearest tree, gingerly and begrudgingly presented his teeth, and proceeded to slowly clamp his jaws into a young sapling. From there, he began to gnaw out small pieces, take the time to chew them, and swallow. Trees had never tasted very well, and he suspected they might be bad for him, but they did a fine job of quieting his stomach. The motions were comforting, and he tried to imagine himself eating fresh venison rather than nasty tree pulp.
But a lone wolf had to eat what one could. Today's menu had consisted of some grass to quiet an upset stomach from yesterday, two interesting smelling pebbles, a clump of fur, various scat, an unfortunate baby bird, a large grub, and three beetles. Considering the bird was actually red meat, even though it consisted of half a mouth-ful, it had been an extraordinarily good day of hunting as he traveled.