Cottongrass was bored, cold, and alone. And with nothing better to do—he sniffed. Everywhere he went he was sure to make sure his nose was twitching, even when he dipped his head down too low and he accidentally inhaled a bunch of snow that seemed to go straight to his brain. The splitting brain-freeze didn't matter, not one bit. All because he was sniffing. Sniffing along an invisible trail with his head down and tail swaying distractedly behind him.
He didn't know what he was doing or why he was doing it, but, well, at least he was doing something. And that's all that really mattered to him in the end. Besides, it wasn't like his pointless task would get him into any trouble. So far he only walked into a tree once! And he was super lost but...
If Cottongrass were to be honest, he was always sort of lost. Which confused him to no end, because how did a wolf like him even get lost in the first place? It wasn't like he had a place that he even wanted to call home, there was no pack eagerly awaiting his return, and he knew where all of his friends were. He did it. Solved all the mysteries in his life and his mind said that it just meant it was time for him to do something drastic. Like—well, he wasn't even going to think about it because he was really bad at ignoring those thoughts one he had them.
And thus, Cottongrass sniffed. It was his duty. His personal task that he was assigned to by some ambiguous figure that he didn't think to make-up at that point. Everything was fine. He wasn't going to be the first wolf to die from boredom or anything. It went along in silence—
Until he heard it. Somewhere in front of him he heard the sound of branches snapping. His gaze jumped forward, body still with one of his paws awkwardly caught mid-step. There was more snapping. And if he sniffed—that's what he was supposed to be doing in the first place!—he smelled something best described as meaty and bloody. It was enough to tempt him forward, just past the thicket of spindly branches.
He blinked, just barely avoiding getting a branch in his eye as he went. And just as his vision cleared, time stopped. Because it wasn't the snapping of a branch he heard earlier, it was instead the crunching of breaking bone. He knew this because he couldn't do anything but stare as a deer—just a regular old deer—proceeded to chomp down on the remaining half of a rabbit.