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 Posted: Tue Jan 24, 2012 9:30 pm
 Sun Striker made his way along the river, the snow around the ground seemed firm and almost thick under his paws. He marveled how these cold winters did not ever seem to affect the river, he watched as it rushed down the land and over pebbles. He started to remember the fish someone had once caught him and felt the urge to catch one. He knew he was too young and would probably just make himself cold and wet. Besides these harsh winds were not something to play around with. Still his tummy ached and he felt a stabbing pain coming as he made his way down. He was hoping to find some sort of shelter or even old scraps of food but the odds seemed slim.
His paws became numb from the bitter cold and his limbs slow as his whole body started to freeze. He felt his body shivering continuously as he made his way using the river for guidance. His head hung low and for a long time he could only see snow and more snow and hear the river on his right. He could hardly look up as the wind picked up strong and harsh, it was relentless. He finally felt his legs stumble as he walked and soon found himself falling. He had managed to fall straight into the icy river. The coldness shocked his body and he couldn't help but let out a loud cry as he paddled to keep his head above the water's surface.
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Posted: Sun Jan 29, 2012 4:23 pm
 The snow covered rocks were slick and the cold grey sky carried a crisp wind. Mocking Bird snuffled along the ground, breath smoking from her snout and jaws as her paws made prints against the light snow fall. The scent of old hunt and scraps, marked routes and territories, was leading her on as it always did. Her black and white fur allowed her a decent amount of camouflage against the monochromatic backdrop of Winter and skittish as she was, avoiding dangers was normally quite easy even for one her young age and small size. Her thick coat protected her from the frigid winds, their intensity increasing and decreasing with no sign of consistency or letting up.
Scents were getting thin the further she went, which normally would be distressing to the young pup, but there was a clear smell alongside it as well as a dull rushing sounds. Her bright blue eyes peeked up from her given path. There was a river, its cool water a relief to see from her nearly nutritionless day. The only food she had scavenged was early in the morning, a few scraps of meat and bone that the buzzards didn't get to only because they were too busy keeping warm. Parched, Mock licked her chops and hobbled her clumsy body to the edge of the river. The water seemed to rush by and turn white further up, but this section was more like a stream in its speed -- gentle and slow despite the depth. Fish wiggled by appetizingly, but water was more important first. She edged toward the side, small claws digging into the cold firm dirt, Mocking Bird lapped up the cold water gratefully.
A sudden sound ripped through the stillness surrounding her, sending the fish fleeing and Mock practically dunking her face into the river in surprise. Shuddering and giving a weak yelp of her own, she clumsily padded back and stared in horror at the direction the sound came from. Something brown, small and helpless was violently careening down the forceful river and judging by the sound it made it was another pup, same as her. Her eyes were wide, body frozen stiff... Mock's eye twitched before she was able to think through the fear.
Mocking Bird was not the smartest wolf by any means, and she was by far not the smartest pup. Her instinct of self preservation was strong enough that she had been able to survive on her own for the last few months with nothing but her keen sense of smell and fear as her prime source of motivation. For the first time she could remember, she now felt fear for someone other than herself and it was forced upon her as abruptly as a lightning strike. Just as quick, her four paws propelled her to one of the larger rocks outcropping into the river which provided for the base of a mostly abandoned and dismantled beaver dam. If her attempt didn't work, then the dam would certainly slow the castaway pup down but who was to say the water hadn't already stolen his life with its icy fingers? Hunching down, she opened her small jaws and waited until the brown pup was close enough that she could get a firm grip on the scruff of his neck. Her small brows were knit up with an intense mix of worry and concentration.
What cost would failure bring?
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