Golden Glade Home on the Remains

Defensive little bugger, Quixote mused.  Well, at least this guy wasn't going to start preaching something about how him eating a corvid was the end of the world, seems like.  Good, and with that he dipped his head and ripped off a chunk of flesh from the plucked black bird. Gulping it down with all the crude manners of a bachelor who simply didn't give a damn, he licked his lips and continued, So what did you want, then?  Right on to business, no fuss no laboriously ranting away to dodge questions.  He couldn't fathom why this wolf had shown up other than to investigate what was a reasonably delicious corpse.  It wasn't like corvid was among the standard flavors he was accustomed to.

Quixote only now took a better look at this wolf.  Scrawny guy -- he'd have thought they were a female if his nose didn't tell him otherwise.  Maybe they did need the crow more than him and just didn't want to admit otherwise.  That was about all the mental effort he put into it.  Pack wolf, seemed like?  Had to be if a few sharp words didn't roll off his back like water off a duck. That or younger than he looked, someone who hasn't been chewed on by the world as much.  It wasn't like Quixote was much of an old dog, himself, but maybe older mentally.  He took another bite, waiting for a response.