if you don't understand him and he don't die young

[googlefont=Nothing You Could Do]

It was something of a dumb idea, looking back on it now.

Early this morning, Calaveras had set off to go hunting along the slopes of the Vertok mountains, taking the time to learn more about his new environment, discover new ways of tracking over rocky terrain, and, should he reliably follow one of few scent trails, bring back a prize for the rest of the pack. Between admiring the beautiful views and making mental notes of his group's homeland, Cal had been focused on the trail of something he wasn't quite familiar with - his suspicions of something akin to a bighorn sheep being proved correct as he found a small herd of white ungulates. Their fur was long and fluffy, and their horns narrow and erect. The hunter skillfully placed himself further up the slope from them, downwind so they wouldn't catch his scent. The Almost-Sheep were something Calaveras had never seen before, and he was close to leaving them be in their grazing, simply content to watch and study them calmly. Decidedly, it wouldn't do the pack any good if he returned empty-handed, and he had to admit, he was intrigued to challenge his skills by hunting new prey. And so he made the first move - crouching low, his dark ears and whiskey eyes focused on a female and one of her two kids as he stalked down lichen-covered rocks. A misplaced paw and some sliding stones later, the Almost-Sheep spooked and bolted further down the slope away from the now-chasing wolf. They navigated the boulders and small cliffs expertly, and Calaveras didn't offer them much competition. It was only thanks to his endurance and a sudden drop-off that he managed to catch up to the creatures. They hesitated, allowing him to lunge in and snap his jaws around one of the young one's hind legs.

His paws had slid on the stone surface from his momentum, and he had twisted to avoid the defensive mother- sporting thin horns like the males, desperately attempting to butt him away from her kid. The Rook held fast, but what he failed to account for was the drop-off just behind him - by the time he remembered, it was too late. Two of his paws were placed on thin air and the other two quickly followed suit, dragging the bleating kid with him as he fell over the edge of a steep drop. The rocky incline slowed his descent with the price of inevitable scratches and bruises, and he had almost managed to land on his feet, had his shoulder not given out with a pop and a pained gasp. He muttered a curse to himself as he lay there until the pain ebbed away enough for him to lift his head and look around, immediately seeing a heap of white fur just a step from him. The Almost-Sheep kid, limp and with a mangled neck. Cal had frowned, reminding himself that at least it would have been quick for the thing. That, and he wouldn't return unsuccessful. He had done his job, and he had been sure to finish it even if he was injured.

Carrying the kid back to the caves wasn't the easiest. It was just small enough for him to lift and half carry, half drag it back along the mountain trails. He couldn't put hardly any weight on his right shoulder, and so his progress was slowed with a limp that only made the carcass more awkward. But he had done it, and now the Rook entered the caves that the Vertok called home. Through the Central Keep, he was questioned if he was okay, and assured with a quiet nod and tight smile that he was fine. To the Bishop's Chamber, where he was glad that the tunnel was wide enough for his kill. He left it by the entrance to the large room, and let his eyes adjust to the darkness within. Something he'd never quite get used to, or understand why these Vertok wolves would live in such a place where there was no breeze and no stars at night. Nothing was like home here, save for the assorted smells of herbs lining the walls. For all the deep shadows, the chamber was calm and serene.

Across the den, there was a wolf of smokey greys. One that he recognized as the pack's Bishop, but had never met before. "Y'ello?" He called to catch their attention. He stood at the edge of the room with his front leg held up and his tail relaxed near his hocks, and offered a small smile. Calaveras was oddly shy, as he waited to be acknowledged, but he easily kept a calm and friendly demeanor.

Razza