Shimmering Sands Learning to love the bomb

Any fresh food was bound to get the stomach rumbling and the feet moving—but meals didn’t just drop dead from the sky onto his dinner plate. With that in mind, while Foster was pulled by his curious nose and salivating jaws, he stepped lightly and kept his ears perched and open to discover what lay with the scent of lumber and blood. He was not above scavenging was unlucky to find his long-awaited temptation still occupied by the what was presumably the beaver slayer. While the cogs were turning, he didn’t immediately step right up to drive her off, had it been a bigger meal maybe he’d be willing to take a hit—but a beaver wasn’t worth getting chewed.

Finding a new cushy lump of sand to plop his ass onto, he attempted to look casual in his approach. If there was any meal potential to be stripped from the flat it would have seemed to have already been snatched up. He wasn’t quite on the verge of savage starving animal, but Winter would test him yet—and while he didn’t solely depend on the kindness of strangers, being social did tend to have it’s advantage. Hence why by the time he settled on opening his mouth he’d already been through Plan A B and C in his mind. “There’s a joke about munching beaver here somewhere—“