Wapun Meadow The path ahead

Eventually, Surma finds his legs moving once more. At first, he doesn't know where he's going and it isn't until he's near the base of a mountain that he fondly remembers the whisp of a wolf. He'd reoccurred sometime later but the memory is hazy at best and the last thing he wants to do is pick at the scabs that have grown there. The world seems familiar on this side but from a dream long ago, something no one will recognize if they say him now.

The scar across his muzzle has begun to thin and flatten, becoming apart of him as a memory. As Surma. He wrinkles his nose at the thought and growls lowly within. It has been days since his last meal and the hunger his body calls for is ever present. The fox had been enough to tide him over but he can't push too close to the limits. A fire burns within his heat that he can't quite extinguish, and until then, he'll persevere.

The scent of blood stops Surma in his tracks and his growl increases. His stomach roils in cheer, urging him forward until he comes face to face with a low hanging rabbit. The one it belongs to is barely a concern as long as he can get him to relinquish the kill. His thick fur puffs up around his chest to disguise his thin frame. Even though he's managed to keep fed over the last few months, the wear and tear up close is obvious. For now, Surma keeps it from view and uses his teeth as distraction. Lips curl and he teeters a few more steps forward as a vulture circling the dead.