Shadow Mountain what i had once mistaken for death was, instead, a door

cyron cannot hunt for himself and even if he could it wasn’t as if wolfskull cave had been an attraction for prey; even the rats had avoided it as if it were the plague. it had been a foreboding prison with a yawning mouth of stalactites and stalagmites that had resembled the sharp teeth of some mighty beast. his meals came whether out of pity or because they remembered he existed but the carrion was far from fresh and likely had not been all that good to consume in the first place. a promise was left hanging thickly in the air between them as the older male dashes off. cyron turns back to the stream and begins to lap at the water again while he waits though his wait is not long. before too much time passes the ivory garbed male returns to the sterling saefyn with a fresh hare.

cyron pads closer to it, drawing in it’s scent with a deep inhale, habitually checking to make sure it wasn’t poisoned. he did not think enough time had passed for the stranger to be able to do that — and realizes, slowly, that most poisonous plants are probably dead and ineffective by the frost and snows. dull chestnut gaze rises to the male for a second before it flickers back to the gift; the boy’s stomach both rumbles and turns at the same time as hunger and nausea battle it out inside him. he takes a small bite of the flesh that was a simple prey animal but to cyron it was a succulent four-course meal. he hesitates after he’s chewed and swallowed that first bite, torn between whether he wants to eat it slowly to savor it or devour it.

cyron snatches it closer with a low growl that rumbles in his chest — a purely instinctual reaction — and slides down to his belly upon the ground, locking the corpse betwixt his paws as he begins to tear at the flesh and sinew, his self control lapsed as he hungrily devours it as quickly as he can ignoring the turn of his stomach as nausea threatens to expel what he's already consumed.