The iron tang of blood on his tongue isn’t unpleasant, but he’s never been one for a clean kill. There’s food at his feet, a dolphin calf that got too close while he was swimming further from the bay. The meat is strange, like a caribou that’s also a fish.
Sable appreciates it for what it is, but the rubbery chew is kinda gross if he thinks about it for too long, so he doesn’t. Hen is situated in a tree farther up from the shore. If he listens, he can hear her protesting barks even from here. His ribs will hurt tomorrow, he’s sure, from one of the adult dolphins slam, but he’s got food, so bruises are nothing.
He picks up the young animal by the tail, intent on dragging it up from the sand to the forest, so he can get his protesting chipmunk before she has a conniption.
a walk through the shoreline turns sour as the stench of something sullies racharra's senses. her eyes, then, are drawn to the droplets of blood. she had been fortunate enough to have not seen it, not at its freshest then. with the blood, she finds the likely sources.
a young man — her age, carries his quarry. racharra's stomach rumbles, to which she huffs. when was the last time she'd eaten, exactly?
she wouldn't dare ask him for his kill, and yet the girl follows wordlessly.
The sound of swirling sand, the distribution of a weighty body passing across it. Sable’s eyes flick from the dolphin up to the approaching wolf, and he briefly starts, because that may be the most muscular woman he’s ever seen in his short life. She’s his height, and he guesses she’s around his age.
For a moment, he holds eye contact, adjusting, testing, before he releases his grip on the dolphin’s tail, raising to his full height. He shuffles, awkward for just a moment, before thrusting his muzzle to the side in a silent “come on” gesture.
He’s fortunate enough that he can share, he’s sure. Even if he can only offer the rubbery, small body.
the boy — man? — extends kinship. it's silent but racharra accepts it and follows with some distance. is this how wolves, unfamiliar with the fineries of life got along?
she can't recall ever having fish, let alone the thing in front of her. it was mangled, but even if its fleshy bits were shoved back into place, she probably still would not be able to recognize it.
she glances up to the man. ..what is it?
she whispers.