|
thread title missing
|
[html] |
-wave!-
Alacrity had been halfheartedly tracking the buck for most of the morning. She was hungry, but knew that she had almost no chance to bring down the animal on her own. He was large, healthy and wary, and none of those three traits boded well for her, small-built and half-starved as she was. The wild dog's hopes had been rekindled when her quarry waded down to the river: perhaps he'd get stuck in the thick river muck. But her wishes were in vain, and she was almost trampled when an unexpected growl sent the buck charging in her direction. Well-honed instincts saved her from those sharp hooves, but her late leap missed its mark. Had she been able to grab his throat, Alacrity might have made a meal of him, after all. Alas, it was not to be, and the buck escaped with nothing more than a scratch for his troubles.
Her frustration was quickly replaced with curiosity. Across the river on the opposite bank, the source of the growl materialized in the form of a partially-grown wolf. She was young, and apparently concerned with appearances. Alacrity was reminded of her younger siblings and chuckled to herself. "That's not going to work, you know." Alacrity was elbow-deep in mud herself, and knew from experience that it would take a good swim and an hour of patient grooming to return the white spots on her legs to their proper hue. Then again, perhaps the youth's darker coloration would be more kind to her.
|
|
[/html]
|
