The Floodlands feel like i don't even know me

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The vole remained limp betwixt the melanistic coywolf's paws, over-creamed coffee colored toes flexing ever so slightly as he stared at it. It wasn't enough to even consider a snack, he deduced with little more than disdain. In fact, it brought a whole new meaning to the phrase “a bite to eat” for that appeared to be literally what the Vole was: a bite to eat. In the moment that Arturo Fearghal thought himself to be alone he wondered if a time would come when he could look back on these trying times and laugh about them — presumably to his Family. It would be a good life lesson for his future children, no doubt. Surely, this skeletal state could not and would not last forever, and the Fearghal monarch was never a man to choose to sit idle. He had little to offer at the moment — no posh territory brimming with plentiful prey he eyed for a claim. It was hard to choose when he could not effectively determine if it was a wise choice to plant roots or not. All he knew was that he would not be choosing these Floodlands; but he scouted the Tuktu Hinterlands, determined that his new legacy would be given life here. Yet, he had his ideals and his experience and perhaps, for the moment, it would be enough.

Movement, easily discernible by the lack of tall grasses to hide within, finally caught the bithiúnach's attention, his slim muzzle rising to stare across the way at the ink and silver marked male, who had begun to approach. He was tall, but unlike the svelte Arturo the male wolf was bulked with muscle. Arturo understood well enough that in this moment his coywolf genetics placed him at a disadvantage. He wasn't built for brute force, wasn't a brute by any means of the word, but he had speed; and Arturo hadn't earned himself a reputation that proceeded him by being easily intimidated. Fiery orange-red eyes leveled a stare at the beasts' approach, the coywolf's lips curling back to expose his teeth in warning as he rose, scooping the Vole back with his paw as he might have one of his children: the only difference being that this was not a child that needed his protection. It was a bite to eat.

Several thoughts flitted through his mind, always working, always trying to find where he could get his edge: and the question followed: was the Vole worth fighting over? Violence wasn't always necessary, the Fearghal monarch knew: and as a gentleman Arturo prided himself on his ability to negotiate. He'd found long ago that leadership wasn't dictated by the largest wolves. Physical power was a fraction compared to the power of persuasion and knowledge. Words could build or ruin an empire, and his charisma and ambition had built him a Family in the Hollow, even when he remained a subordinate to Boadicea.

The brutish wolf offered no words, only a cold expression and a hungry stare at the vole's carcass. “In my Family, if there is something you want, you ask for it, as opposed to staring at it like a fucking savage.” Despite the vulgar curse he used the coywolf's words were, as always, soft spoken. Arturo might have been morally corrupt (it depended upon who was asked, really) but he had never considered himself savage. There was too much that he thought was civilized about him that prevented such; but that was his opinion. “You look like you're plenty capable,” Of hunting, and of holding his own. Arturo saw the possibility of an opportunity and he'd always held true to the thought that everything worthwhile held a risk. “I'm not an unreasonable man, if you want this morsel, you can have it,” The sovereign offered, moving his paw ever-so-slightly to show a sliver of the vole. “but I have an offer for you to hear, first.” Perhaps Arturo's form of charity was never for the sake of other's, perhaps it couldn't even be considered charity at all. It was less of giving and more of a bribe but the offer he had to make wasn't one he would consider awful. Some bribes worked to the benefit of both as opposed to just one.

Arturo's shoulders stiffened, always assuming that his companions were wild cards because, upon the uncertainty of the beasts they were inside during the first meeting, they were, effectively, wild cards. Either he created intrigue or he'd failed, and Arturo was as ready for both possibilities as he would ever be.