Sex: MaleWhat he does care about is food. Sick of chomping on meager mouthfuls of field mouse and ground squirrel, the mountain wolf decided to take to a serious hunt. The terrain here was still strange to him as he skirted north of the lagoon, his paws sometimes walking the dryer line of the marsh, sometimes wading belly deep through the water. At least, he thought rather blandly, it was better than a blizzard and the water would keep him a little cooler in the sticky mid-day heat. Truthfully, it was a stupid time to be out hunting; it's hot, it's muggy, it's just plain uncomfortable and no sane wolf should be caught dead exerting his precious energy. But this is exactly what Tyr was counting on; the pack wouldn't see him poaching and he could eat and be gone before they knew.
That was the plan, anyway.
The dark, heavy figure moved slowly through the water, his head pushing aside clumps of reeds, eyes alive and bright with the expectation of a solid meal. His paws sunk into the marsh bottom, the mud threading through his toes as each time he brought his legs forward slowly and with precision, the water cut and flowed behind him in an arrow-like ripple. Then he stopped, frozen in time all save his ears that shifted over his shoulder to his left, eyes slowly following, muzzle and head last, trying to move as little as possible. There was a splash, and then another, and the chittering and clicking of an animal he'd never even seen. It looked like a porcupine, but it was smooth and wet through, and seems as though all its quills had flattened into a large, flapping tail. There was a large beast, his nose worked, a female, and three other smaller ones. Ah, pups.
The male quelled an appreciative growl, his muzzle curling and shuddering and anticipation. The reeds were thick and his progress was slow; this was not open country where he could run something ragged and he did not have a pack to circle around and pinch the attack. This was a different kind of hunt, one that he was getting used to going after his smaller, bite-sized prey. Stalk and pounce. He could almost laugh, if it wouldn't scare his quarry; so much like a cat, not a wolf, but he was only doing what he needed to do. The strange water creatures continued to swim about, until with a great splash of its tail on the water's surface, the larger one sounded an alarm and began to swim toward a thick clump of reeds and sticks, the smaller ones fleeing behind.
With a high-pitched, excited cry of his own, Tyr leapt after them, splashing water in a giant wave as he sunk to his chest, jaw snapping for anything that moved. He tore at the long grass and thick reed stalks, he bit at the water, until with a satisfied thud his teeth sank into warm flesh and he felt the acrid taste of blood on his tongue. Without waiting to examine his prize he turned back toward the shallows, kicking wildly and hauling his body from the water, shaking mud and sticks and grass and everything else from his pelt in a fantastic spray.
Tyr couldn't help but wrinkle his nose then, as he realized the pup-thing that he'd managed to nab was oily and smelled of a disgusting musk he'd never known, its taste souring his mouth a little. But he was hungry, and he hoped that the meal would be worth the effort. Trotting through the shallows where the water only came to his ankles, the dark youngster dropped his prize on a thick bed of grass, shook himself again, looked around briefly, and began to rip and tear at his morsel, no bigger than a yearling rabbit. Once he got passed the musk and the oily skin, the meat was tender and he issued a deep, satisfied burr from his chest, tail swaying low behind him, attention focused on eating as quickly as he could...
