Kildeer Rest a dead man's tale

@Thuringwethil

The chill in the air is undeniable. Snow would come soon, and with it, wet paws and black ice. Already he savored the dry days of this place, the name of which had only passed through strategem and battle plannings once or twice — Teacup, or Tekken, or something. They'd agreed to simply call them the Wilds, and that was that. Heavy steps brought him to another cold copse in the trees, weaving his thick legs through overgrown roots that turned into small rocks. Outcroppings littered the place in what sunlight managed to peek through the clouds, and Karma felt an ear twitch upon spotting a few rabbits tear across the shallow grass and into their warrens. 

Naturally, he was hungry - he'd become a wanderer so many years ago, he didn't remember a time where he wasn't hungry - but all the prospect of food did now was irritate him. It was rather insulting to be such a warrior of prowess and trip over your own legs going after a bunny, you know? So, instead, he aims to keep walking, weaving his silent, heavy way through each rocky outcrop, single eye cast out for any easily-snatched prey in his way.