Word Count → 351 :: Rawr.
Bare branches clattered like bones when a cold autumn wind cut deeply through the forest. Wayne was glad, as always, for this thick wolf coat. He and his friend hadn’t had too much trouble adapting, because it was actually more pleasurable this far north than it had been in Texas, what with their lupine blood. He would be able to survive the coming winter well, especially if they were able to capture a big enough store in case the prey animals hid away or died when the frost came. All he could worry for were the horses and the weaker pack members.
Now, he stepped through the woods with ears pricked; there had been talk of an elk herd in this area, and he’d caught the scent of a pack mate—one of Jazper’s children, he thought—winding in this direction. This would be a good opportunity to use numbers to take down one of the larger animals, especially if it was the offspring that Wayne was thinking of.
There was a sudden muffled clattering of hooves as the group of elk spooked deeper in the woods, and Wayne jerked his head in that direction. He sprinted as fast as his optime form would allow him, able to catch sight of the elk and of a timber pelt flashing through the grass. Quickly, the cowboy grabbed for the coil of rope he’d tossed over his shoulder. He’d been hoping to find a better place for ambush, but the urgent and beckoning howl echoing through the barren forest drove him onward. He managed to cut ahead of the elk herd, having come from another section of the woods, and threw the lasso he’d fashioned.
It caught around something with points. He jerked, thinking that he’d caught an antler, but a dead branch came falling instead. One of the elk, an older cow, balked at the sound and turned in the opposite direction of the others. Wayne let out a howl to alert Lorenzo and any other pack members to her, while he struggled to tie together another lasso with the remaining rope.
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