As a runner and soldier with The Bloodbreakers, Mace had quite a bit of privilege. He was often given some amount of priority at kill sites, and he was able to seek the counsel of the higher ups without much consequence. He could speak his mind if he so chose, though the Attaya was more of a listener than that. A man of action with little avarice, even if he had the means to be greedier than he was. But as a lone wolf, Mace could only hope to be so lucky, and the truth was that he simply wasn't.
He was accustomed to hunting with a pack, and time alone traveling from the plains to the grand forest, and now traveling north and east from the mountains, had certainly taken their toll. He was leaner than he'd been in many years, likely since he was a yearling with hardly the means to provide for himself. The cold turn in the weather didn't help, and spring wasn't yet in full bloom. Prey wasn't yet wholly abundant. He noted that as he stalked a swift hare along the forest lining Turtleback Lake, a locale he knew nothing of.
The hare was in good health, a strong animal. Far from Mace's first choice, but also the only hare he could flush out. He stalked it with the wolf's natural grace and silence, and yet it was always seven steps ahead of him. The cat and mouse game was unwinnable. The Attaya knew it, and so did the hare, but still they went on, the hare darting away any time he tried to close on it, but showing no signs of immediate fear or flight. He could smell it, though, the natural fear of all prey animals, but this was not the stench of fear for its life.
That boldness was well earned, for even when Mace threw himself into a charge-and-lunge, the hare darted away effortlessly, and both of them knew he had lost. He slumped to his haunches with a sigh and stared wistfully across the still-icy lake surface at some bird or other far in the distance, and wondered how much easier hunting might be if he could just sprout wings and fly out there.