Without any hesitation, I chose the latter.
As for the reason, it was destined in the moment I was willing to name it.
I began to pursue its tracks in broader and more dangerous areas.
To be honest, its pitch-black fur on the snowy plains was like an ink spot on white paper, too conspicuous for both me who followed it, and the extremely alert prey.
Repeated failed hunts made Karlosh's figure more and more emaciated, as if it would collapse into the snow at any moment, swallowed by the wind and snow.
But like a sharpened ice blade, when the innocence and ignorance sheltered by its elders were worn away, the true sharpness and fierceness could finally be revealed.
Its demeanor became deeper, its posture more stable, and its wolf eyes, as black as its mane, lost their former gleam, yet were terrifying.
Karlosh no longer chased.
As a Lone Wolf, a Lone Wolf with uniquely colored fur, the hunting method of pack running and encircling was no longer suitable.
It chose to wait.
