Life had settled into a comfortable rhythm as the warm days of summer faded into the cool evenings of autumn. Despite Zaphkiel’s growing concern of the square footage of their den she still slept soundly with his dark form curled around her and their pup’s small forms strewn about the rest of the floor space. In the mornings when she awoke early she would simply look at their peaceful faces, the first rays of sunlight filtering in through the den’s entrance. How could she give up these unobstructed views into their life simply for a less cramped living space? Perhaps soon they would go find a bigger den, one closer to where her mate’s parents had finally settled, the pups would surely enjoy that. Though not too close, she thought suddenly, for his father as a most…peculiar creature.

This morning she rose early, taking a moment to lovingly nuzzle each of her children in turn before licking Zaphkiel’s cheek and exiting into the brisk morning air. Once outside she stretched slowly, first bowing low so her wide chest scraped the freshly fallen leaves, then stepping forward and stretching her back legs out behind her. She finished with a good shake, noting how her already plush pelt was thickening even more so as the temperatures dropped. With a yawn she was off, her legs churning in a familiar rhythm that instantly relaxed her as she headed toward the familiar game trails. Becoming the True Arrow of Taviora had been a long time goal of hers, one achieved only shortly before she became pregnant, and only now did she truly feel capable of fulfilling her duties. Ever the working mom she walked the trails daily, noting the location of the larger prey that, while scarce in the winter, would provide enough to help feed the whole pack.

She also had plans to gather the whole pack for a hunt soon as celebration of Amoxtli’s rise to the forest throne. She did not know much of the young leader, but as Coszcotl’s blood and chosen heir she trusted him wholeheartedly. After checking the normal trails of raccoons, martins, and even a stray pig she turned north to where a herd of moose often crossed into their territory. Emerging through the thicker roughage in this area her golden and ice gaze landed on a small gathering of the towering creatures. Four in total she counted, though a buck and two does were walking away from an old male who stood far removed with his great-antlered head hung low. The winds changed and she caught their scent in full force, the metallic tang of blood causing her mouth to water instinctually as she crept forward for a better look. From her new vantage point she finally caught sight of a gaping wound on the old male’s chest, no doubt inflicted during the rut as they fought over some female.

Already she was beginning to calculate the best way to handle him, with a wound that great a few skilled wolves could fell him. He would die from it eventually she knew already, but she couldn’t risk him getting an infection or wandering somewhere else to die. Her pink tongue flicked out over her black lips, preparing to get more hunters when she caught another scent. A sly smile spread across her face as she turned over her shoulder to see the all too familiar form of her mate. “Taken to following me, have you?” she said quietly, laughter dancing in her eyes. He always seemed to find her, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.