Honeyed Pasture windsong

Jura merely sat, patient as a saint, and waited for the other male to take what was his. He'd taken the prey right out from Charon's nose, and it was only fair to offer it in good faith. He could find another meal elsewhere; he wasn't hopeless. Still, he wasn't blind to the suspicious look the stranger gave the fowl, but relief washed over Jura when he found it suitable to his liking and tore into it with sharp teeth. Again, he swept his bottle-brush tail over the grass in an indication of his geniality. 

After swallowing down a few bites, a question was asked that caused Jura chuckle and shake his head. "No." He says, voice a bit rough (presumably from disuse). "I just don't have much to say." He answers with remarkable honesty. "I'm Jura, though." He continued to smile, even as he spoke, glad the other wolf found the kill to his liking. His stomach did gurgle a bit but he ignored it with a flick of his ear.