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Dium stalked through the pines, his pads landing softly to quiet his movements. The shadows from the trees shifted across his pelt as he moved, a breeze rustling through the pines and through his earthen toned fur. Green eyes darted around and sensitive ears perked, listening for prey and the whereabouts of others on the hunt. They had initially split up into three groups, but he had wandered away from his. Now, he wondered where they were. He had left the group at the edge of the forest, where it meets a plain. The group had been searching for signs of bison, but he knew their chances of catching one of the large creatures was slim.

The best they would probably do was catch one of the young that had been born a little while ago. At the thought of the bisons' young, he became aware of the beautiful mid spring weather and felt at peace for a moment, closing his eyes briefly as he trotted along.

Dium came upon a clearing, and he moved so that he stood downwind from it, but caught the slightest whiff of a pack mate. Moving through the little undergrowth there was, he made his way towards Camus, who was also alone upon first glance. Dium approached him and settled next to him, his eyes turning to scan the clearing. This was a good spot, with prey often appearing here.

It was strange to think of Camus as the alpha, whether or not it was temporary. Only a short while ago, he was a fellow member, and now Dium wasn't allowed to order him around as he had so recently.

Just as he was about to speak up, Dium looked up to see a small group of white tail deer approaching warily, in search of grazing along the forest floor of pine needles. Taking quick account, there was three does and a young buck, one doe with offspring, taking her off the list of potential prey. Then the buck was stronger than the does, so that took him off the list. One of the remaining two does looked a good deal older than the others, meaning she would be slow and weak, making her the obvious target. With two wolves, she wouldn't be much of a problem, as the deer were only a foot or so taller than the wolves, and much more willowy.

Dium looked over to Camus, almost as if asking if they should hunt her. She wouldn't feed the whole pack, but she'd be something. Additionally, maybe one of the groups had caught something.

Verine

Female // 4 // Third // M: Camus and Arcadium (Indirectly), Open

A small, gentle breeze began to blow across landscape. Early morning light draped across the waking vegetation, creating odd patterns on the forest floor from the shadows of vibrant green leaves. Verine's dark body slinked between trees, fuzzy ears flicking and rotating, eyes shifting from place to place.

She had agreed to go on the hunt, not only because it was an assumed responsibly of her's, but she was one of the few who were already awake. She enjoyed hunts, as it gave her distraction from other pack matters, specifically the recent passing of the alphas, and the chaos that came with it. Though, she didn't mind the latter.

Ver paused for a moment in her tracks. Her dark blue gaze landed on the petals of a golden wild flower. She admired it's beauty for a mere moment, a small smile curling at the edges if her maw. With silent sigh, she continued on her path in search of evidence that a delectable meal might be near.

Verine weaved around the bristles of a pine tree, her banner flicking as she came to the edge of the forest line. A clearing opened in front of her. Her gaze scanned the surrounding line of the forest, closely eyeing each bush for signs of her fellow pack members. A smirk crept onto her features as she saw the familiar bodies of Arcadium and Camus. It was odd gazing upon Camus as her superior when less than a moon cycle ago, he was her equal. But nonetheless, despite his recent, or temporary, promotion she still regarded him as her friend.

Perhaps she should circle around to meet up with the two? Or maybe- wait. Something shifted in the breeze. It was faint, but noticeable. Her tongue slid over her lips before she turned, heading south of the clearing. She quickened her pace, focusing intensely on the barely apparent scent. A few minutes passed before she had once again came to the forest line, this time opening up to distant rolling hills of a prairie. Her tail flicked as she analyzed the scenery. "Ahah..." she sounded in a barely audible whisper. A bison calf. Where there's a calf, there's a herd. So where's the herd? Unless it was a straggler that had been left behind in migration? Yes, that must be it. As, that was the only scent in the air. The only trace of nearby adult bison was days old. This was an opportunity. If only she had more wolves with her. The chances of catching a calf alone were near zero. But with a few more hunters, the pursuit was possible.

Ver's head swiveled side to side, hoping and praying that someone was near. This would guarantee the entire pack a meal. Considering the recent morbid events, her pack mates needed this win.

If Ezhno was given the opportunity to describe the pack with one word, she'd eagerly choose "unstable." Unstable, precarious, fickle, wavering, like an autumn leaf in frigid billows. If her stomach did not twist at the thought of volatility, she'd ground out every word in-between through clenched teeth, but she does not have the strength to be at war with her fear, so she can only just find ways to carry on.

It's not like this is the first time this has happened to her.

She reminds herself, over and over, in her mind with a voice that has gone hoarse with endless, insignificant comfort: Behave as normal.

Behave as if there is nothing wrong. Behave as if there is no despair, no dismay, no dread or discontent at the happenings smothering them all. Behave as if the pack's leaders, Ezhno's leaders, haven't withered away and kicked themselves into the afterlife, leaving the rest of them scrambling for some semblance of security. Behave as if she doesn't know what will become of those two brothers, those two brothers who tear her heart to shreds whenever she sees them for reasons she will hold close to her chest until they drown her. Behave as if she isn't choking in the foreboding sense of wrongness, wrongness, wrong wrong wrong something is wrong something will happen--

Behave as if the pack is not weak. If the pack is weak and Ezhno is one with it, then Ezhno is weak, and Ezhno does not have the right to be weak. If she is weak, then She will be angry, and when She is angry, She--

Ezhno forces her mind to think of something else.

She gives herself a moment, a second that makes her mind scream No, no, no because someone like her does not deserve even the briefest of relief. Her eyelids flutter closed, hiding away eyes of a hue she does not wish to acknowledge, and she focuses on the sounds of the forest, of the rhythmic tap, tap, tap of her pack-mates' paws on soft loam. Allows herself to delude her thoughts into believing the wind is gently carressing her fur in consolation. Tricks her mind into thinking that everything will be alright.

Her eyes greet the world again barely a flutter of a hawk's wing later, when she can breathe again.

She looks ahead, and lets the world come back into view.

Ezhno has been following after her fellow hunters for quite some time now, having "joined" them when they all set out to feed their stomachs for the single reason that she was already awake and needed something to do before she found herself snarling at her reflection once more. Teetering back several tree-lengths from the group, tailing after their hocks like some distant shadow, she wonders, distantly, if they even know she's there, blended with the shadows as she is and footsteps near-silent with every calculated step she brings forth. Unlikely, she concludes, for they'd have questioned her presence behind them long ago--or perhaps they simply don't care; Ezhno can't say she blames them.

Ezhno ambly passes through verdure, russet eyes piercing past bramble to fix on a Third's tail. As Ezhno observes the she-wolf's subtle muscles ripple beneath a cloak of swirling ecru and ebony, she wracks her memory for a name, a face, the patterns of flesh gifted with a mind, and it does not take long for her to find what she seeks: Verine, comes the canid's name, a set of six letters that are as honeyed as their owner's voice. Eloquent and charming is this one's front, easily crossing into convivial, but those sapphire, resplendent eyes, so brilliantly vivid they are beyond effulgent and can only be lambent, bury something Ezhno is unwilling to unravel, being the unquestioning, obedient creature that she is.

So obsessive is her following that whenever Verine stops, so does Ezhno; whenever Verine picks up the pace, so does Ezhno; when Verine pauses to gaze upon a flower, so does Ezhno; and so on and so forth until a fellow pack member comes into view.

White fur, stubborn eyes. Enigma. Ezhno commends the wolf's parents for naming her such; the title suits her perplexing self quite well. Ezhno does not know this one best because the whole blasted pack radiates secrets, but she has observed the younger she-wolf from afar once or twice--and saw some things she did not quite appreciate. Again, Ezhno is not one to question things, not one to inquire about the extremely obvious deviations of a developing soul, so she merely stares into those lost eyes for but a moment, nodding in a hasty, albeit slightly disapproving, greeting as politeness dictates, before setting back off after Verine.

(Enigma is nothing on the scale of things, just another faraway spirit that will be forgotten in the long-run--just like Ezhno, as planned from the very beginning.

Ezhno does not like to associate herself with wolves that will end up with her.)

As the other checks her surroundings, Ezhno makes her way around her superior, exiting the forest's dense bracken and entering a straggling bush in the open plains, doing her own observing from within shadow. From afar are the forms of Camus and Arcadium, and, judging from a look on Verine's face that Ezhno will not dare discern, the lattermost canid was not the one to spot them first. Her superior appears to contemplate going after the duo, eyes shining with, again, something Ezhno will not question, but it seems a certain scent catches her attention before she gets to finalize her decision.

Bison, says Ezhno's nose, and she makes her way after Verine when the other veers off in likely chase after her prize. When they come to a stop before distant prairies, Ezhno elects to slink out of the bush (and out of nowhere from the other's perspective) to come stand uncomfortably close next to her superior.

Ezhno merely tilts her head in place of a greeting when their respective eyes inevitably meet. Ezhno holds herself rigid, yet pliant, tense, yet open, and those tired, tired eyes of hers seem to say, Awaiting orders.