Hoshor Plains you're angry as hell, you're ready to fight

Valiant had always found superstition a little easier to handle than spiritually. There was a generational guilt embedded deep in his psyche that made concepts like Karma into something transactional. If you do A, you'll achieve B. And if you don't achieve B, it's because you shouldn't have been doing C. With this logic, he kept himself from falling into despair at the cost of forever feeling that he'd fallen just short of the mark. Just short of deserving or worthy. It was a complex monster to battle — especially when he wasn't conscious of these unconscious calculations he made on an almost hourly basis. And even if he was, what other way was there to live?

But he's found Minnow. Not even that! She'd found him. They'd stumbled upon each other. The universe or some entity within it had pushed them back together just when he was beginning to lose all hope. And he was tempted to ask why. Why now, god? Why not all those other times? Why not when I was young and scared and completely alone? Was I already undeserving then?

These questions lurked somewhere just below his awareness — but the isbjørn was not easily tempted. He chose to thank this entity with as much sincerity as he could muster. (Because if he didn't, would it take Minnow away?) He chose to live as that entity had clearly indicated, and he chose to do so with fervor.

That meant, four paragraphs in, I will finally get to the point. He had some presents for Vairë's children, all painstakingly pilfered from various piles of meat and other parts. Marbled cuts of meat, a few chunks of liver, a pair of cloven hocks stripped of skin, a grisly rib bone — he brought these things bundled carefully in a hide, and then dropped them all unceremoniously in the area where the youngest members were currently sequestered.

"Who wants a snack?" he said, hoping to lure at least one of them close. His eyes landed on the one Kukutux called monster boy — @Salaksartok. "Wannit? First pick. I won't even make you wrestle me for it."

If it were Dutch, he suspected they would be wrestling already.

Watching the hunts had been interesting for five whole minutes. There was too much going on, and from too far away, and so Salaksartok became distracted by a sibling, or a passing adult, or a smell, or the taste of dirt in this particular section of the plains, or something else equally mundane to everyone except the very young and very stupid. Eventually he'd been shepherded to the Moonglow camp, and the whole cycle repeated again.

There was a women's circle called, and he took some time to watch the many ladies emerge from every direction to meet up with his grandmother. He wanted to go too! Why wasn't he invited? Well, he tried a few times, but inevitably someone was there to grab him by the scruff and put him back in his place. It was a fun game for a while; but then he'd fallen asleep, and woken to someone at the edge of camp.

This someone wasn't someone he knew, which earned some interest from Salaksartok. It was the layering of smells that really caught his attention though! There was meat, and bone, and the hide-scent he came to associate with toys. All of it was suddenly there before him, laid out for him to choose from!

Woahhhh, the boy exclaimed in a drawl, at first exuberant and then promptly quiet (think, stage-whisper) so that nobody else would know about this level of treasure. He wanted it all for himself! His first thought was to pounce upon the pair of hocks, but no sooner had he scored them with his teeth did Salaksartok rebound for the liver pieces—snuffling over them, and inhaling them—and then he was bulldozing through the rest, wanting to touch or taste everything!

The boy struck like a rattlesnake, his fangs tagging the offering whip-quick and merciless. This was observed with no small amount of nostalgia, but Valiant did his best to hide the amused grin that this behavior brought to his face.

"Huh-uh, partner — we're savin' some of that for your brother'n'sister," he said, reaching out with a paw to blow access to what few scrapes of meat remained. There was no reproof in his voice; Valiant spoke to him as if Salaksartok had asked him a question, and the isbjørn was merely answering. It was a tactic he'd seen Easy employ to great effect.

He dragged these scraps closer to him, but the chew toys were Salaksartok's to sample, since they would not disappear so easily.

"You got some pounce in you," he noted, his tail swinging idly. "You been huntin' yet?"