Arrow Lake and he floats outside my prison window

now that thorn had managed to claw most of the (now headless) frozen moose from its icy grave, next came the truly back-breaking work -- archiving his treasured keep.

his teeth had served well to dismantle what chunks of moose hide it could, and by midday a well-worn trail had been stamped into the snow -- the repeated comings and goings of thorn in his bloody errand of stowing moose chunks in a stone-laden cache.

after observing thorn's repetitive actions for longer than he would have cared to admit, stigmata prowled towards the young brute - the jagged, obsidian rock from a land fit only for bears - and he snapped a "greeting" nip against the yearling's hip before wordlessly joining him to the task.

he went first to clave a stiff moose chunk from its source, and then trawled along thorn's beaten path to the designated cache. stigmata dropped the ice block at his paws, and examined the cache before turning to thorn, waiting for him to arrive at his side. "we have a fair bounty here already," he grunted. "we must dig another, further inland."

thorn's task seemed so repetitive that after a while, he fell to a pose of mindlessness; coming and going while the stark white of his trail grew gradually redder - until at last his foot prints churned in pink snow, and a ribbon of red was visible from the hinterlands. he was joined by sunspire's eminent sovereign, and after a few arduous treks in silence, stigmata suggested they make another enclave to store their bloodied goods.

he nodded, agreeing -- though he left room for stigmata to lead the way. after all, the tungsten hunter had been in the region longer, and thorn trusted he had an ideal spot in mind.

at the sign of agreement, stigmata retrieved his defrosting hunk and drove them steadily inland; veering into the mountain-shaded wood at the foot of the toothy sunspires. he followed a wide, frozen stream, and then veered east of it, bringing thorn and their freight to a clear spot in the trees that smelled densely of ice and frosted pine needles. the ground was harder here, but it would serve well as cover for their dead treasures, and the area was an easy landmark to spot in the trees.

stigmata peeled through the snow where he thought was sufficient, and then began to scrape shoveling paws against the hard earth; forelegs straining as he rent free large chunks of dirt-black soil that had gone cold and undisturbed for months. without turning an eye to thorn he commanded the wolf to: "gather more."

their haul inland was not short; thorn studied the landmarks they passed, though his sharp eye was unnecessary given the gristly tracks they left in their wake. upon finding a suitable spot (one in which thorn silently apprised with an approving glance) he was instructed to turn back for more: obliging, the dark beast neatly pivoted and made back for the half-excavated corpse.

when he returned to the moose he found fox and fowl had made note of its unearthing - with a throaty bellow he plowed through their gathering, sending feather and fur flying. he worked with a frenzied man's urgency, more than once needing to remind the bold vixen to mind her own claim.

upending the water-sodden leg, thorn's teeth cracked and strained until the meaty gristle was separated -- he hauled this ungainly prize back to stigmata, and out of the corner of his eye saw the bright pelage of the fox slip back to the kill.

if she was still there when he returned, thorn vowed to kill her -- but for now, his mouth and efforts were full, and stigmata was expecting him.

ignorant to thorn's plight with the scavenging, stigmata busied himself with creating a suitable furrow in the ground for a moose-limb's worth of flesh. the work was tedious - back-breaking aside - and he was only a quarter through with the depth he wanted by the time thorn returned the first time.

he took this moment to pause; panting as he pulled himself free of the ground and gave his snow-draped pelage a firm shake. he wagged his tail while watching thorn, blinking appreciatively over the male's form as he deposited the lopsided hock nearby.

stigmata had not been idle while the beast was gone. appraisingly, thorn looked over the delve in the earth made by stigmata's hand. in the summer, such a depth would be child's play -- but they were in the height of winter, and thorn knew that earth could be harder than stone once the temperature plummeted.

while stigmata gave a moment's pause, thorn lent his own efforts to their endeavor. in a few heaves he hauled as much rock and soil as he could, and then, once the male had recovered his breath, the beast would step back and return back to the carcass for more.

like machinery, the two of them worked without any words shared, trading off between tasks with the ceaselessness of an assembly line. thorn took to the slack with a younger wolf's vigor, both reminding stigmata of himself when he was that age, and also serving to have him realize how useful a young wolf could be for such grunt work. he wondered if it was why his parents had had him. they didn't seem to have loved him besides when he was farmboy busy - and it stood to reason, by the way he'd turned out, that stigmata's parents weren't having children just for the sake of it.

he grunted, returning to the hole in the same stroke thorn exited.

no sooner had thorn vacated the dugout, stigmata fell to it -- leaving the stalwart male to make his own way back to the ice-encapsulated prize. thorn had time to reflect on his way back the silent nature of their partnership  - he was a brute of few words, mostly because he was incapable of much introspection beyond what was required of him - but he saw a strength in curbing one's tongue, and guessed stigmata was a man of few, but possessive words when the mood suited him.

when he came back the vixen was long gone -- she had eaten her fill (a pathetic amount too, hardly more than a fistful of meat) and left a neat trail of pawprints in her wake. thorn found he was rather relieved - a surprise, given how ardent he wished his heart to be. he enjoyed killing - and did so without compromise when it suited him - but the stark fire of the vixen's pelt had struck his fancy as rare, even among a species known for their russet branding.

he did not spare the crows such softness -- a few nearly lost more than feathers as he fell upon them, sending a black cloud skyward. once more he labored over frozen sinew and hide, and once more he returned to stigmata, a second limb in tow -- but this time, the toil of his exertions was beginning to show in the slow drag of the hound's step.

stigmata redoubled his efforts in the black oxen's absence, and had less than a quarter more to dig when he heard thorn's trudging return. the wolf retreated from his wide, shallow pit, and looked over the spent hellion; tongue dropping farther with each pant. "find a place at the river to break the ice. get yourself something to drink," the warhound instructed, motioning towards the frozen sheen of the nearby creek.

he set upon thorn's freshly retrieved limb in the meantime and slid down onto his belly to begin to work the moose leg into smaller chunks that would be easier to bury in the hole already made.

1 more from you? then NEW NEW NEW

he was loathe to leave the adamantine leader with an unfinished task, but to disobey would be rebellion -- and thorn still remembered the sharp press of stigmata's teeth against his neck. he dropped the limb and gave an orderly nod -- between the two of them, they had done impressive work. certainly, their efforts deserved them a drink.

he made down to the river, trudging where the ice was thin -- he would drink his fill and await stigmata, and then later, he estimated they would start anew. for now he was content to catch his breath and conserve his energy - already he felt the soreness of the day's work settle on his frame, and knew the rest was well earned.