Winter Hunt: The Encounter

The wind is a bitter blade today. You smell that, Cut?

Only the sharp sting of cold, Wolf-Brother. Is that what hunger tastes like?

It tastes like the inside of an empty stomach, Frog-Friend. The forest always

provides, eventually. Though I admit, the pickings are slim.

Hold still, Cut. Another wolf. Close. Too close for

comfort. A trespasser. Lost, little one? Or simply foolish?

Neither. I hunt. As do you, I presume. Hunting in my

lands. Your scent is unfamiliar. Your presence, unwelcome.