Blackfeather Woods the song you sing is wretched and cold

First impressions were most important! It was the first lesson that The Jester had been taught; when meeting new faces, always look your best. He opened his eyes and gave a toothy grin, exposing the poor, rotting state of his teeth. The constant bile had turned his teeth yellow and weak, though there was little that could be done against it, as most meals left his poor, starving body writhing in pain. As The Jester was suddenly much more concious of himself than he had been only moments before, he closed his mouth and bowed his head. Lovely, he said, seeing as he had already been able to agree with the she-wolf on something. 

I must admit, he cooed, taking a small side step and looking back at the raven-winged femme for approval, I don't have much hunting experience. However, I am an expert thief. His tail curled slowly between his legs and his ears lowered once again as he became concious of himself and his rude behavior. Forgive me, he pleaded with a light sigh, I sometimes forget who I am speaking to. 

But yes, I'm a scavenger. Most of the meals I manage are taken from caches or from kills left in the open. It isn't the most glamorous skill I have, but it has proven to be useful on more than one occasion. That being said, I wouldn't mind learning a new trade, if that's what it takes. In truth, The Jester hated hunting and hoped to whatever gods were listening that he wouldn't have to try his luck at it anytime soon. But he played along, nonetheless, for what was a play without a plot?