Three weeks of eating only small animals is getting tiresome. It takes too much energy to catch a rabbit or squirrel for the amount of meat he actually gets, and though the red wolf has tried a snake or two, the multitude of bones and scales are not at all to his liking. His belly has been rumbling for several days now, but the young wolf has yet to find a pack to join, and with no pack there is no hope of bringing down larger prey.

He’s currently lounging in the damp grass beside the swamp, peering into a murky pool of water. His flop-eared reflection blocks most of his view, but every now and then he spies a flash of dark movement that lets him know that there are fish below. Having grown up in salmon country, Hickory has fished a time or two, though he had never excelled at it. He is not fast enough, but he is growing desperate, and he’s willing to try anything.

The red and black wolf settles into a crouch at the bank, his pale eyes scanning the water for the biggest, slowest shadow. These are shallow marsh waters, and he knows that his chances are better here than they would be in an open river or lake. After several long minutes of waiting he pounces, burying his head in the water and causing an enormous splash. He feels his nose hit the muddy bottom, but his teeth are locked onto the slippery body of a catfish and he doesn’t really mind.

Gripping the flopping brown fish tightly, Hickory climbs up the bank and shakes his soaking fur. He doesn’t bother to clean his nose off, but instead sets to eating the fish, crunching happily through the thin bones. When all that is left are a tail and a few scattered whiskers, Hickory wipes his nose off on his striped red leg. Then he rolls about in the grass for a while, belly up in the warm sun and nearly dozing off. Then, sufficiently pleased with himself, he leans forward and grabs the fish tail, tossing it up in the air and pouncing where it lands.