Honeyed Pasture the world is already on my side

It was, quite possibly, an odd gift — but there was little about Doe and Szymon’s relationship that was not odd. The creamy pelt with its brilliant white spots was pretty and soft, and although Szymon wasn’t completely certain what Doe wanted to receive as a gift — hence all the slimy seafood — he knew that he wanted to fill her life with them, and something pretty and soft didn’t seem like such a bad start.

The Cairn did not share his ally’s sentiment about the fawn. It had been meat since the moment the wolves had set their eyes on it and Szymon bore no attachment to it. He did not, however, relish the idea of trying to separate its skin from its neck and head, and he set to with a will — his teeth worried relentlessly at the crest of its young shoulders, creating a wide swath of material that was vaguely rectangular in shape. Grayday’s suggestion was a good one, and Szymon nodded affirmation, delicately gripping the skin in his mouth — as much as he could, anyway — and throwing his weight back against it when Grayday seemed ready. It tore with the grisly sound of ripping fabric and rending flesh, but it tore. Szymon glanced down at his pallid chest and huffed a wry sigh at the blood that smeared his body — as much as he relished the kill itself, the sticky sensation of blood was not entirely to his liking.

“G-Gray — d-d-day,” he ventured, delving into conversation with some reluctance yet wanting to show his appreciation and camaraderie with the other wolf. He concentrated on relaxing the muscles of his jaw and neck, focusing on the thought of Doe’s paw against his — of her teeth in the fur of his neck — as a low sigh escaped his lips. “W-What gift — y’think — to g-g-give a m-m-mate?”