Silver Creek two-toed sloths cannot shiver to stay warm

His lean frame was now withered. It could not be help; it took effort to maintain his fat and muscle as a lone wolf, and in famine conditions he did well to keep himself going. His ribs were apparent beneath his ash-and-smoke coat, and the arc of his shoulder blades and points of his hips had appeared now too. Yet his spirits were not broken, and his lope was still smooth and quick. The famine had taken its toll but it had yet to take him down.

He spent the morning hunting, and as he drew near to a border mark he applied his scent to the those of his packmates as reinforcement of their claim. It was a quick pause before he returned to priority number one. Morning bled into early afternoon before he picked up a fresh game trail; a hare had passed by. Rexxar tracked it doggedly, finding the heat of the day distracting, but his determination, his need and the need of the pack, was strong.

It was a solid hour before he unwound the trail and flushed the hare from tangle of brush. He gave chase, stretching his legs to full stride, feeling his muscles pull as he put all that he had into the pursuit. The world narrowed onto that one animal; nothing outside ends of its fur existed. His focus was so intense that even as the animal began to rise into the air he did not question it; he closed the gap and leapt, teeth snapping at flailing paws as still the hare rose, shrieking, and disappeared into blinding stare of the sun.

Rexxar ground to a halt and stared upward, panting heavily, squinting into the sunlight. His ears were thrust forward, twisting and turning as the shrieks carried away and went quiet... and then he watched as a hawk emerged from the edge of the sun and soared away with his dinner.

"You have got to be kidding me."

In the days following her becoming a member of Silver Creek, Sansa spent her time familiarizing herself with the territory and seeking out ways to contribute to the pack. Being a bit of a perfectionist, she hated to think she was ‘bad’ at anything. Saena had made it quite clear what she expected of her subordinates, and Sansa wasn’t willing to disappoint. She’d learn all the names of her pack mates and take on a trade, but first she wanted to memorize the ins and outs of her new home.
 
She’d dedicated her morning to helping scent-mark the borders while she studied the land. The female felt a sort of prideful satisfaction in adding her scent to those of the Creek wolves. It was the first time Sansa had been part of a pack that didn’t consist only of family members, but she was the type to embrace change. She liked to think that she could handle anything and everything life threw at her.
 
The summertime heat began to swelter as the day wore on, and the Eta found herself seeking a cool respite at the river. As she trekked long, a blur of ashen fur in the near distance caught her eye. Sansa strode swiftly after the wolf whose specific identity was unknown to her, but whose scent matched that of the Creek.
 
She couldn’t make out what exactly he was chasing until he skidded to a halt, panting from the intense effort he’d dedicated to his hunt. Sansa slowed a short ways away, ears tipped in the male’s direction as she wondered why he’d given up. Then, she, too, caught sight of the hawk taking to the air with a rabbit clutched tightly within its talons.
 
“Oh my god.” And she laughed, unable to control her terrible humor and disbelief toward her pack mate’s cruddy luck.

His head, and thus his gaze, was drawn around to the sound of laughter, and he beheld a packmate he had not yet me; a slender female with a ginger coat and copper eyes. She scarcely looked older than a yearling. Rexxar spun around to face her, smiling with his ears splayed side ways. "You saw that, eh?" For a brief moment, disappointment alighted on his face, wrinkling his forehead and downturning his mouth. "I had hoped to catch something for Saena's pups," he lamented. He had not yet met her children, but he was determined not to do so empty-pawed.

"Oh well," he said, rolling his shoulders and resuming an open and easy going expression. Sulking did not catch prey. "I guess I'll have to try again. The name's Rexxar."

He didn’t seem too off-put by her inappropriate humor which came as a relief to Sansa. Typically the opinions of others mattered very little to her, but the man in front of her was a pack mate. She needed to be well liked if she hoped to ever be successful there. She met his sapphire gaze, grinning impishly at his words. “I did,” she admitted. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make fun of you. That’s just… really crappy.”
 
She felt bad for him, though. His tall frame appeared withered, a wasted remnant of a once-strong creature. Saena had informed her about the locust plight that had stripped the land of its life. She could see the terrible effects the prey shortage had had on her smoke-furred pack mate.
 
“It’s a pleasure, Rexxar. I’m Sansa,” she rejoined, her tail swaying gently against her haunches. “And I admire your optimism. Come on,” she said, gesturing with her muzzle in the direction she’d originally been headed. “I was going to the river to cool off. Maybe you’ll have better luck there.” The Eta pivoted but swung her muzzle 'round to see if Rexxar would take her up on her offer.

He took no offense that she had saw him and laughed. He was a wolf who could laugh at himself as much as the situation, and that his prey was swiped out from in front of him by a hawk was as amusing as it was unlikely. It spoke to the desperation of those who lay beneath the blanket of famine. The bird had risked its own feathers in trying to sink its talons into the hare. Had Rexxar not been so keyed in on the lagomorph, he may have been able to seize the winged animal instead, but such was life.

"Sansa," he echoed with a warm smile, committing the name to memory, pairing it with her friendly face. She invited him along with her to the river, and he bobbed his head in acceptance. "I'd like that," he answered. He enjoyed the feel of water against his skin, and though he was no master fisher, he had tried his paws at it enough that perhaps he would have some luck there indeed. "Lead the way," he said as he stepped toward her and stood astride her.

She beamed. “Great,” she said, tail waving through the air behind her. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on her part, but she really did want to believe that prey wouldn’t be so hard to come by near the water. She hadn’t been in the locust-plagued region long enough to realize just how desolate the land actually was, though.
 
“Have you been in Silver Creek very long?” she asked as her gaze flickered to study his charcoal features. Despite his withered appearance, he wasn’t hard on the eyes at all. She felt a pang of sadness at the thought. Hopefully she’d have the chance to see him in his prime if the famine ever drew to an end.