Though he had been absent from these fields for years he still knew the terrain like he was born here. He stood stoic in the snow; Jago was frozen in time. Soft flakes beat against his greying pelt as he sat atop a small mound gazing over the grounds he had missed so dearly. His heavy paw prints lead north towards the home he had built as a loner for many years. Those days were behind him as he sat in the border of Moladion, He took in the sounds of the birds that were slowly coming home for the end of winter. He could hear the crackling of the ice letting loose from the beaches of the river and the frantic call for her young of the mother white tail. Nothing had changed here…at least not enough for Jago to notice. In his younger years he would have pursued the mother deer and her calf, bringing them both back to Coza and his pack for a quick meal. Now he was aging. The arthritis had set in his joints and his hunting days were dwindling to an end. Jago was sick…probably dying…but he would live every single day like it was his last.

His mind wandered from left to right as he looked for any reason to move. His haunches were planted softly, resting his aching muscles and the cold of the snow easing the inflammation of his right leg. Time had not been an angel to him. He was aging rather gracefully though a lot sooner than he had ever imagined. Wolves were living past twenty and all he could do was sit here in his prime and wonder about the next day. Perhaps, he was indeed, dying.

Black eyes wandered over the icy landscape before he caught glimpse of the pelt of a coyote loping against the border of the fields. Jago could smell the male’s testosterone pumping through his garbage hide. He watched silently atop his mound as the male paired with another in formation. They were headed towards the center of the fields and Jago’s interest had suddenly peaked. He stood then and shook the matted snow from his fur and slunk slowly to the ground. With haunches bent and small tinges of pain shooting through his back, he stayed silent. Jago had been used to the pain and stalking the coyotes was no different.

They appeared to be in pursuit of something ahead and that was when Jago smelled the blood against the snow and saw the golden and black figure. The male coyote burst from his crouched position and the female soon followed. She caught up with her counterpart and hailed closely to the jaws of the golden female. The coyote loped back away from her while the male creeped to her side. Jago knew this tactic well. He sprung from his crouched position, his muscles extending with subtle pops from his age. His claws dug into the snow and his traction increased with each pump of testosterone that flowed through his body. His speed increased and his jaws opened with a hard snarl before he leapt to pin the male coyote against the ground.

Blood boiled beneath the thick skin of the aggressive male and his fur stood on end over his back. He glanced at the wolf that he didn’t know hoping that she could handle her own if the other coyote burst from her position.