The yearling sniffed under a few leaves, ruffling through them with the tip of his nose. It wasn’t his proudest moment, searching for another wolf’s cache. He was selfish though, severely lacking a sense of shame. He was doing whatever it took to survive. He wasn’t losing weight, but he was worried about maintaining it. He was proud of his new shape. The idea of losing it was disappointing. Plus, it was colder now than usual. His fur had bulked up, but prey was starting to get scarce. “Eh, Ferreiran,” he called. “I think I smell something in the north.”
He glanced around for the small black wolf, narrowing his eyes to try and find his shape. He wasn’t too dedicated though, dropping his eyes back to the pile of leaves beneath him when he realized his search was pointless. “You hungry or what?” He called again, trying to draw out the man.