Sometimes, Vaken’s curiosity got the better of him. There were times in the yearling’s life where he knew better, but still proceeded. He knew it was dangerous, and risky, but the reward was worth the risk. He was young, ridiculously brave and selfish.
His nostrils twitching, Vaken couldn’t help but inch his way forward. He smelt fresh kill in the breeze, blood lingering in the air. Along with it came the smell of wolves, too many of them to distinguish. Vaken kept his head low and focused on the possible meal, allured by the possibility of a free dinner. He tried to blend into his surroundings, moving slowly and quietly. He was thankful for his beige and brown coat, the colours camouflaged into the wild rye fields.
It wasn’t his proudest moment, creeping like a cat in an alleyway, but he wasn’t ashamed. He did what he had do to in order to survive. The crunch of dry glass below his paws was hard to eliminate, but the small yearling tried. He wasn’t sure how fresh the kill was. He knew invading pack territory was frowned upon, maybe even a death sentence- but he continued forward. The coyotes had been making it hard to eat. If there was another wolf there, he’d wait in the grass and then steal what was left.