The smell of caribou hunters was in the air. That smell of musky dear and musky wolf mingling together to create something all it's own. Yaalk'ali had been around it all his life to not know it and know it well when scenting it.

For the time (though he would keep to the hunter's trail) he would allow his senses to follow something else entire: sweet smelling fruit trees, vibrant red flowing buds of willow, dipping into shallow spring waters. A quaint little grove, which he was sure to bring deer to him, if he were patient man.

As it were, he was very patient indeed. If he held certainty in the long run he would get what he came for.