Styx padded his way through Polaris, leaving smoldering paw-prints in his wake. His floppy ears twitched, and he followed them to the sound of rushing water. His mouth was dry, and he was thirsty. So, naturally, he went to drink.
The river, one he knew by now, quickly appeared before him. He trotted to its banks, and began to drink, tongue flicking out to lap up mouthfuls of chilled, refreshing water.
As he drank, he opened his eyes, looking into the water. He could see his reflection once more, and could see that he had changed from when he had met Crying Eye. There was some definition to his face, no longer round and wide eyed.
Something moving caught his eye, and without thinking he lunged, snagging a fish by the tip of its tail. Twisting its head, he flung it onto the bank of the river.
Styx turned, watching as the fish flailed on the shore. Its tail thwacked on the mud, and it moved awkwardly, attempting to move to the water - at least, he thought so. The pup snorted, it would never get anywhere moving like that.
His stomach rumbled, and he snarled at the fish, coiling his muscles before leaping at it. At the same time, it gave a powerful leap, and he missed, skidding across the mud.
Regaining his feet, Styx shook his head. The fish was bouncing its way back to freedom, and the dog shook himself, before leaping again.
This time, he landed on the fish with all four paws planted firmly, the fish unable to do more than squirm beneath him. This was his first real hunt, his first kill, and his blood raced in his veins. So far, everything he had eaten had been already dead, or a bug of some sort. He had yet to kill anything greater than an insect. His blood sang.
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