Big Salmon Lake [m] Fresh out of an icky gooey womb

There was nothing quite like the flavor of the young. Soft. Tender. It was not nearly as filling nor as thick as older varieties, but it held a uniqueness that was well worth sampling here and there. Plus, it was an easy kill. After traveling for as long as they had, he'd eat just about anything and he was not about to complain about this one. Not when, between the two of them, there was plenty to go around. Tonravik had her fill and he enjoyed the rest. He wasn't particular over what he ate. He didn't have favorite parts of pieces so long as he ate and felt full. That was enough.

A wolf lingered in the distance. A new one. His silhouette was of no significance to him so long as that wolf was mindful of their kill. Their claim. Kerosene's head lifted as his tongue rolled lazily around his muzzle and licked the blood from his maw. His nose scented, but found little more to find as his senses were currently drowned in the fresh crimson of their prize.

Nevertheless, he rose, moving to stand somewhat protectively over mate and their supper as he allowed his pregnant mate to have her lion's share. With distance between himself and the carcass, he could smell the air more clearly. The wind shifted, drawing the stranger's, no... he'd called himself Peregrine so, Peregrine's scent upon his nose. Whatever it was it was nasty. He looked wet, but there was no way that slickness was from the lake. The scents would have been different.

His eyes flicked, noting the equally as slick creature this wolf dragged. It looked– Oh. Well now. That was just nasty. "Lake's that way," he pointed with his nose. Some wolf needed to clean that shit up.