The trees of Enocra were worth living in, amongst. They were not terribly tight woven, there were smatterings of underbrush but also broad expanses with only meager leaf litter. What he did not expect was that he thrived equally as well in the plains and fields of the wilderness outside the packs. Fields that he finds himself returning to as he carries the last remnant of a deer he had downed after a bad rutting fight had maimed her. A shame. She had been a pretty thing.
The hock swings the leg as he lopes, stopping only as he comes across a female about his age staring out across the icy waters of the river. He thinks she seems to be looking to cross to the island, but there is nothing doing. Not unless she intended to freeze to death. Alone, at least. Perhaps, he thinks, he would offer some company, a good meal. It was at least an ice breaker.
His history is unknown here, he reminds himself as he finds himself trotting towards her with his prize still between his teeth. The riverbank is delightfully crystalline, even if it hides its deadly chill behind the image of friendly soft waters. He finds his own breast as neutral as she found hers, and perhaps it is this thought cast from both their minds into the universe that makes them gravitate in the apple-bobbing bucket of fate. “I am sure we could make it if you had a mind to laying rather close to a stranger.” He says after he drops the leg.
“I can even assure you I’ve not got anything nefarious in mind. Just a lonely fellow hoping to share a meal for someone who might be equally as alone?” His voice is a soft rumble, a rolling deep tenor. It is a handsome sort of sound, even if he does not recognize it himself. He tilts his head, eyes her, drops his gaze pointedly to the deer leg, and then raises it back up to her. “I hear the island is more than a little intriguing to visit. Stories of moon rocks from you Moladians’ Catastrophe.”
He wags his tail, amused by his own offers of companionship and intrigue.
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