Skoll feels them before he sees. Thundering snaps against the snow-covered ground travel up his legs as his eyes gaze up to squint against the brightness. At first he sees nothing. Just whiteness against the rolling hills.

He stands as the stag races across his vision. Gracefully swimming through the snow, as if it had fared against the weather for some seasons before. The wolf follows the stag just as gracefully, kicking snow every-which-way.

Skoll's tongue flicks across his nose. Is this what a hunt looks like?

Snapping up squirrels and rabbits looks pitiful compared to the scene. Skoll follows behind slowly to not interrupt the hunt. He puts his paws carefully in the divots made by the runners, eyes wide with wonder.

His heart begins to race as the two become trapped within the ring. His teeth clench, rubbing against themselves as he watches behind them. A strange feeling overcomes his wonder. Skoll stalks closer - not enough to get in the way. He wants to bite.

He's too young for this hunt, realistically. Skoll watches intently, but readies himself to run if the buck gets the wrong idea.

Is this what Southeast was talking about?