Sleeping Dragon Feathers

Having had little to do with Gyda since the day judgement had been passed on him, he could only wait to see how she would react. She didn’t seem impressed by his measly attempt at garnering favour. She spat words at him like venom and Cirrus winced at the majority of the syllables as though he was being flogged.
 
Of course he would hunt when he was able, if he was able. Lucani was adamant he would run on his leg once more, but Cirrus could feel twists of pain every time he took more than a ginger step on it. The medicine collecting was something he felt more able to do and his ears twitched ever-so-slightly in hope. Unknowingly perhaps, Gyda had provided him with a goal.
 
“I will!” He rasped in a voice still laced with fear. Her repose was matched by his weakness, and he floundered on the floor wondering what else he could do to appease her. Gyda was no Heda; she had neither provided him food nor protection personally (this was the only way his addled mind could accept help and clemency was being provided to him), and Storm was sure she would leave him to starve if it wasn’t for his swarthy protector watching on the sidelines. Storm he knew that he could not afford enemies in this pack. He could only cling to Thuringwethil and the chance she had given him, and hope that one day he could escape with his life.
 
“W-what is your f-favourite meat?” As soon as he could hunt, he would try to catch whatever it was and place it at her feet. Somewhere in his mind he wondered if he had again set himself up to fail – what if she said cougar meat, or some other such horrific meat to obtain.