Otter Creek of an austere ebon tide

Survivor? Now there was a term he hadn't really thought applicable to himself. A thin smirk flashed briefly across his muzzle, and the rumble of his voice followed after it like a spring thunder. “Seems like there's plenty of us around here, with all of the packs.” It was nice of him to make the assumption that Mordecai was just a survivor, when the gold-eyed Ostrega thought of everyone as a survivor. Another winter had come to pass, and he had come riding its coattails. He had no idea how harsh or kind the winter had been there, and he wasn't keen to find out just yet.

“So are you their recruiter then? Out here patrolling the busy areas looking for the rest of us?” This time he cued in his curiosity, being direct. Though he still felt as though he were passing through, he was technically a free agent, or the unfavorable threat. Still, knowledge of the Plateau brought his pack count to two, but he heard more calls day and night that said there were bound to be more. There were always bound to be more.