Whitebark Stream Some say you can get hurt by what you don't know

He didn't need to be told twice. Ephraim swept toward the fish and plucked it off the ground, recoiling a little when its wet flesh touched his tongue. Disgusting sensation. The meat inside was wonderful, but even an ocean dweller like Ephraim couldn't help being grossed out by the feeling of slick scales. It made him envision slime, which wasn't something he liked on his mind just before a meal.

He jogged a few steps further from the river so as not to disturb Vercingetorix, who quicktly concluded that the fish had gone into hiding, and tore into the dead one's plump belly. Ah. It felt good to eat something, even if it wasn't his hard work that went into it. He wasn't the sort of wolf to better savour things he'd achieved with his own teeth; food was food and only fools refused what they were given.

He picked up the remains of the fish, having left some for Vercingetorix if he wanted it, and muttered through its cold tail, "there's some left." He offered it to the guard, then sighed through his nose and said, "should we..." but he stopped short, having forgotten the next word. Trigedasleng was still difficult for him at the best of times. He could feign fluency if he had to but even his well spoken sentences were choppier than a native speaker's, and then there were times he just plain forgot. Screwing his face up with frustration, Ephraim ground out, "get back to Heda?"