Clementine moved like a shadow through the trees, keeping a comfortable distance between herself and the hunt. Her paws made hardly a sound against the forest floor, and her bright green eyes never once left the young male.

An elk herd.

Ambitious.

One ear flicked as she watched him make himself known, pushing the herd into motion. There was skill there, certainly, but not enough to earn her admiration just yet. Plenty of wolves could chase prey. Plenty could spot weakness in a herd.

The true measure of a hunter came after things went wrong. And, as if the forest wished to answer her thoughts, they did. The calf faltered. Dhaska seized his chance. Then came the mother. Clementine's gaze narrowed as the cow charged, hooves striking the earth like thunder. She expected panic, perhaps stubbornness—some foolish, prideful attempt to force the kill.

Instead, he yielded.

Interesting.

She slowed her pace, weaving between the pines as the elk disappeared ahead of him. Her expression remained largely unimpressed, but there was the faintest hint of curiosity now. Most wolves hated to abandon a hunt once they'd tasted the possibility of success. Pride often made them reckless.

Would his?

Her tail gave a lazy flick. Would he finally decide the effort wasn't worth it and turn away empty-bellied? Or would he keep going, patient and persistent, waiting for the herd to make another mistake?

Clementine found that she genuinely wanted to know. So she continued after him, silent as ever, her russet-and-cream form melting through the shadows while she watched to see which kind of wolf this male truly was.

Dhaska