Fenrisulfr || Lone Wolf || M: Icicle [Ind.], Open

The sound of rushing water greeted his ears, as he finally approached the creekside. It was a thin thread compared to the roaring river it lead to, but that was further West. Fenrir would rather not venture away from the forests into the more open plains of the Greenlands. While to prey would be more plentiful, the likelihood of a pack dwelling within the territory was to high.

He felt the muddied ground underneath his paws, the dirt saturated with moisture. The water was clear and clean, with little deposition of gravel and dirt. One could clearly see the roots of the water reeds and cattails, the grandiose life limbs of the oaks and other plant life, and of course the fish.

Many colorful fish swam, though unfortunately they weren't the largest of aquatic prey items. Fenrir wasn't picky though, his life in the North made him eat much more unappetizing things than minnows and small bass. If only the bear would travel elsewhere. He could still feel it's presence. The great brutish grizzly, he would very much like to avoid any contact with such a creature. It would easily dwarf him, and the most aggravating part of it all was the fact it was guarding the more fruitful fishing spots. The red wolf sighed to himself in exasperation, before barking to the the crows.

The food stock is less than what is usually offered, that is if you scavenge off of me. The fish are numerous, join the hunt.

A few hoarse shrieks and caws could be heard in the trees, to which he nodded in acceptance. The bird shall catch the meal so long as he keeps watch and allows them to eat first. Sometimes sacrifices must be made, while he might not eat as much as he'd like it was fair.

Sitting upon his haunches, he let the scents come to him. The usual smells of nature surrounded him, with the added bonus of fresh, wet earth underfoot. The wind sent the scent of something that made his brow furrow. A fox stalked these woods... Crafty little bastards. More cunning and agile than the average wolf, yet lacked brute power and pack mentality. While Fenrir related to them on a mental level, they were vastly different. His experiences with foxes was always troublesome affairs. Mind games, frustration, and a hilariously... Well, for an onlooker, trapped wolf. Marvelous. The vulpines always sparked trouble, what shall this one bring? He stood to check upon the crows, when he suddenly froze as a final scent transfered to his mindscape.

The bear wasn't were it once was... It traveled upwind. He was having trouble guessing a location, it simply vanished from his senses. That was trouble. His hackles rose, as his eyes slowly traveled the trees around him worriedly.