Snippet #1564467

The river rushed strongly against its banks, sloshing up onto the grass which surrounded it. Standing on the edge, Conan gazed down at his reflection in the waters. He panted, tongue lolling in a wolfish smile. He had been running most of the day, patrolling the territory, scoping for hunting opportunities. He had come across several bands of deer, and the trail of an elk herd on the far northern edge of their territory. It would be a good year for hunting. With only two pups to feed, the pack would be strong this winter. Now, with that fact in his mind and the sun hot on his fur, with summer so powerful in the air, even the invasion of the Redback pack could not dampen his mood.

With a great surge of muscles, Conan leapt off of the bank and into the water. The river rushed in coldly around him, trying to suck him down, but Conan was a strong wolf, experienced, and a good swimmer. His legs struck out against the current, carrying him easily to the other side, where he dragged himself out onto the emerald grass. He gave his coat a sharp shake, turning to look out over the meadows. Only a couple miles now stood between him and his home. His den. His pack.

Conan threw his head back, howling to his pack, calling them to meet him. For in his stomach, he carried food for the pups.