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rpndraw01
Laurel had not slept since departing with Vaken. He was an anxious, angry mess, about to bubble over with rage or hurt or sadness. He had done his best to avoid other wolves on his trek north, and seemed to be doing well to avoid other coyotes. During his walk, he tried to piece together everything he'd learned about coyotes. They were usually in three, but he could
definitely take out one alone. Perhaps he needed to avoid them if there were two or more, as giving himself even more injuries didn't seem like the best idea.
Whatever he figured out, it would have to be alone. It was clear he would have to look out for himself and himself only. Screw everyone else. From here on out, it was him and the wild.
So today, Laurel had a purpose. Sort of. Perhaps it was bad for his purpose to be filled with basically murder of his not-so-far-off cousins, but it was something. Him or them, and although he was outnumbered, the coyotes didn't seem to have enough smarts to really retaliate.
Two mice lay in the dirt a distance away from him and he hid under the bush. Laurel watched it anxiously, waiting for signs of a coyote. He heard paw steps and froze, jaw clenching. When the coyote came into view, he watched — wait, that wasn't a coyote. Laurel stood from his hiding spot and shouted:
"Hey, guy! Stay away from my mice!"
(This post was last modified: Jul 10, 2018, 09:54 PM by Lauraceae.)