Cedar Sweep fall to the knees of the siren

the famine dice say arturo will feast placate his hunger

 

Hunger had begun to become a familiar friend to Arturo Fearghal whom had never before known the gnaw of his stomach as he had since he'd stumbled into the Teekon Wilds just shy of the pestilence that had struck and left skeletal remains and disregarded carcasses within it's wake. The coywolf sovereign had missed the swarm but he certainly hadn't missed the aftermath that the wolves of these Wilds were stuck trying to survive through. That was the highest priority currently: survive. He'd planted a few seeds of his intentions when greenery and the herds began to return but for now haplessly planting seeds appeared to be all that was within the Fearghal's power. For now, it might be enough. He took opportunity where he could find it, not a man to sit idle on his intents. The famine merely slowed him but was hardly enough to deter him. Patience was a virtue he was more than willing (and forced given the uncertain state of the Wilds at present) to extend.

The Hinterlands had been his haunting grounds since his arrival into the Wilds and though he gathered there were lands beyond he'd taken a liking to the southern reaches. He explored, planted the seeds of his intentions, hunted to ensure his own survival and he bid his time, laying in wait. These were what made up Arturo's days and nights: how he filled his waking hours. At the moment, there seemed little else he could do and for now it was enough.

It was at the riverbank of Cedar Sweep that Arturo had caught and eaten his meager meal: a scrappy rabbit. It was no elk, nor deer nor any other big game that he would have killed for as of late, but it was food and beggars Arturo had quickly learned could not be choosers. There were some days and some nights that he went without anything at all — not even scraps left behind by some barely surviving scavenger. After he'd polished off his dinner, little left but tough gristle and bones, he discarded them in a small hole he'd dug and kicked the loose dirt and rubble to cover. He'd worried the  plausible bones, suckling the marrow from them until they were depleated. As the sunset painted the world around him a myriad of colors: soft golds, pastel pinks and brilliant oranges — not unlike the color of his eyes — he padded down to the bank of the river and lapped at the cool water.