As the early light of dawn began to illuminate the forest near the Fireflies settlement, Astor Ermengilde sat motionless upon the thickest branch of a poplar tree.

The man was working his tongue idly, shifting an old bit of cinnamon bark from one side of his mouth to the other for the umpteenth time since he had set out the night before. It had a pleasant roughness that he could focus his mind on as he kept his eyes open for his quarry.

Below him was a carcass. A buck that he'd taken with his bow just two days earlier. It had already been skinned and partially butchered, the spoils brought back to town, and the blood that Astor had collected during the process had been cast all over the surrounding area - ensuring the wide spread of the scent.

Just as he was beginning to consider a more active search for his prey, Astor saw them, padding smoothly and slowly from the trees like ghosts. Wolves. Their snouts were alternately pressed low to the ground or raised slightly into the air.

Wolves had been growing bold recently - sometimes even venturing into sight of the guards who patrolled the outskirts of Fireflies. Naturally, the hunters had been called upon to help. Small bounties had been offered for each wolf killed, and their pelts had always been valuable anyway. It was a temptation that few hunters could resist, and Astor was no exception.

He drew a large revolver from it's place in a shoulder holster. This would be a difficult kill with his bow - and would more likely just result in him losing a precious arrowhead. At least bullet casings could potentially be reused, if he could get slugs and primers from a trader.

He took a moment to get a count. Ten. They were unnervingly close, and despite their focus on the carcass below him, Astor felt that gripping fear seize his gut at the realization that they significantly outnumbered him (and his revolver's ammunition).

Taking a slow, steadying breath, he braced himself against his branch (it wouldn't do to fall into their midst because the kick of recoil caused him to lose his balance), took aim on the largest, and squeezed the trigger.

The large beast let out a surprised yip and slumped forward over it's shattered shoulder, and the others quickly made a break for the treeline at the thunderous report of Astor's .357. He was quick, however, and the wolves were far too close to outrun a bullet. He managed to get off another shot, which knocked another wolf down to the ground with another pained yelp.

After waiting a few minutes to make sure that the rest of the pack was truly gone, during which time Astor holstered his revolver and shot the downed wolves with arrows to guarantee his kills. Once he was relatively certain that he was in the clear, he clambered down from his perch and began readying the wolf carcasses for travel, and then set to work digging a hole for the remains of the buck.