Hoshor Plains gunnr's horse

Two wolves shared a couple rabbits at a cloudy high noon, both caught and offered by the sprinter Fjall. The Yellowstone leader hardly seemed to take any breaks, whether he was patrolling or herd-mingling, so this was the subordinate’s way of lightening the load.

@Arktos? Fjall asked suddenly, close to finishing his meal. What made you choose this place? Was it just the herd?

lmk if this intro bothers you!

not at all! thank you for starting! <3

a quiet moment is stolen to allow himself to enjoy the companionship of a shared meal and the rabbit itself brought to him by fjall; a surprise but one gladly received.

an ear roves towards fjall at his question, a pause given to give him a moment to chew what food was currently in his mouth. a second pause, to give him a few stolen seconds to draw his tongue over his jowls. the practicality of the herd was a big consideration, yes, arktos explains. but i'd be lyin' if i said there wasn't somethin' about these plains that call to me. and it sounds ridiculous to the wrangler, who is more logic than sentiment.

Oh? Would you say it is the tall grass or the open sky? Fjall mused. Are there many plainlands where you are from? he went on to ask conversationally, quietly digging for a connection to share.

Fjall chewed thoughtfully in the meantime, finding himself bemused once again by the nostalgic tone that colored Arktos’ thoughts and words. He enjoyed peeking behind the man’s layers, every curtain a thrill as he didn’t know if he would get what he expected. Often, the plainswolf was just as he seemed, but sometimes…

the open sky, the rolling lands, the herds of the bison and the horses, it felt like his element in a way he couldn't explain. he trails off with a simple shrug of broad shoulders. feels like coming home.

though he had no idea if he'd grown up on a flat plain land. there was nothing before the memory of the red rock and sands of ground zero, of the yipping whispers and excitedly twisted titters of the coyotes that had ( he assumed ) attacked him.

the taste of blood in his mouth: his or theirs he didn't know, at first. in the end: it had been the taste of their blood that had taken days for him to chase away.

i don't know, arktos admits. i don't know where i came from. his expression darkens as he is dragged back to that place, to the violence that had been done unto him in which he had avenged with utter brutality.