Lone Star Mountain In your eyes, there's a heavy blue.

He is ravenous. Talion rips tough hide from flesh, meat from bones, thoroughly gorges on his feast surely fit for a King. He focuses on nothing but his fierce hunger, which has ached is his abdomen for what felt like ages, at times rousing concern that his stomach might well be consuming itself. Although he hadn't crossed paths with anyone in days, Talion is eager to feed as quickly as possible, for he has no indication of what other creature may be crossing the barren mountain on which he'd found the unfortunate young ram.

Around him, crows continue to gather. A sharp jerk of his muzzle to free a strip of meat sends a splattering of blood to his left, and the birds bicker among themselves as they peck at the crimson droplets on the rocks. The hungry wolf pays them no heed, not caring as they caw in outrage at one another, but it is a voice above their squawking that manages to ensnare the sterling yearling's attention.

He swings his proud head to glower over a skinny black shoulder, wild blue eyes finding the sandy features of another lone male, and his bloodied lips curl back to reveal an impressive set of fangs. A gurgled snarl accompanies this display, ears laced back among the obsidian of his nape, determination to defend his meal burning in his cold irises. This unknown wolf, however, simply observes him from a distance, maintaining space between them to signify that he has no interest in claiming the carcass at his paws.

The young Roux-Abrhen's teeth are sheathed upon realization, and he took the time to study the stranger at his backwith suspicion. His expressed remained cool, his gaze never straying from the sea-green orbs that peered back at him. "Who are you?" Talion asked, fully aware that the other wolf was older and larger than him, and could easily overpower him if he truly wanted the meal for himself. Although still very much on edge, he allowed his muscles to slacken somewhat as he considered this.