Bramblepoint the graveyard, the turnaround, it changed in you somehow

"Mmm, it is a pretty bird..." he murmured in agreement.

It was true that Skwol was a true predator, possessed of a stature and physique befitting one. He had been crafted in balance, molded for that efficient and lethal combination of speed, strength and endurance, the epitome of what nature intended the wolf to be. He was near to his instincts and had been a difficult, wild child, but he had been raised by ways that were not so feral, that embraced the sentience and intelligence that his species had developed. Skwol had been taught respect and appreciation. He had been made a steward of nature and a guardian of natural order.

The white wolf dipped his great head to nudge the bird toward her. "It is sad that it has died. But it's death should not be wasted," he said. "You found it first. You should benefit from it." He looked to her, his expression soft and curious as his tail swayed gently.