He could not recall what his last meal had been. Rabbit? Squirrel? Whatever the prey, Salish did know it had been small and not very fulfilling. His belly rumbled in agreement with his thoughts, reminding the older wolf that whatever the prey, it had been over a day ago since the last meal. Salish, in his age and in his loneliness had begun to talk to himself, and as he slipped through the woods he mumbled under his breath. "I know you're hungry, I'm hungry, we will do something about that presently."
And so he was, quickly winding his way toward the freshwater lake he could smell in the distance. The trees were thick and there was not much visibility but Salish had been hanging around these words for many weeks and was becoming familiar with the many different animal trails. He twisted and turned between the tree trunks, a creamy-brown blur of shaggy fur.
Then, without warning the trees parted and Salish found himself in thick fog. He shivered, to him the fog was dangerous and it distorted his sense of smell, of sight. Salish wasn't fond of it and to be honest he had no idea how he would catch salmon in such a dense cloud. A bit frustrated he sat back on his hind legs and whined, brown tip of his tail thumping in the wet lakeside sand. Having no other plan now, other than "sit and wait it out", Salish lays down and rests his head on his paws. His thoughts drift as they always do, and he begins to think on the past and the ache in his heart.
The thoughts are acidic, and dark, and lonely, and empty but Salish cannot help but dwell on them. They are, after all, his story and he feels that with no future before him, what else is there but dark dwelling?
His nose itches, he sneezes and then...for the first time in almost a year, Salish smells another wolf. Being a born-friendly sort of fellow he sits up and looks around. Right, fog, not going to see anything here.
So, instead of fruitlessly looking about, he calls out, "Hello? Is there really another wolf out there...or is this a haunted lake?" His voice cracks, he hasn't spoken above mutters and whispers in too long. The grey furs above his yellow eyes furrow and he bites his tongue, almost hoping that he was mistaken, that there had been no other scents on the breeze other than the usual lake smells.
Salish Male Adult - packless mateless pupless