Whitefish River guernica

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Komodo had not traveled far enough that the kill was out of sight — if he looked straight down the beach, he could see the small pile of meat and bones laying upon the river’s edge — so when the small, firekissed girl made a beeline to his kill, the brute was quick to react.

The earthstalker picked up his gait, saucerlike paws beating a steady drumbeat against the sodden bank of the river. His rush was not made of anger, but of a simple wish to intercept the girl before she assumed the pig to be hers. His tail was held high and his ears pushed forward, hoping not to scare the girl — but wanting to stop her all the same. “ 'ey, red!” he barked out as he deftly closed the distance between them. 

Komodo slowed his heavy stride as he pulled up alongside her. With eyes aglow and muscles aquiver, the angakkuq observed the flower. She was young — he could tell in the way she so unassumingly approached a fresh kill [rife with his scent, she would have realized had the girl taken a second to inspect her situation] and from the way his thickset, northerner’s frame towered over her own. 

Komodo had a soft spot for pretty, young things so the brute easily forgave her for her transgressions. “Happy to share— but it’s not polite to steal.” he drawled thickly, knocking up an eyebrow at the nameless shewolf. A wry smile danced upon his maw and he pushed the cadaver towards her with a nudge of the paw, encouraging her to take the choicest bits for herself.

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