Ankyra Sound with gently smiling jaws

As the storm bellowed overhead, Svalinn hunkered down among the broad, exposed roots in the Blackpine, panting after a particularly harrowing ordeal with a short-tailed stoat. His muzzle was scratched raw - leathery nostrils trickling a thread or two of blood - and his forehalf was coated in a layer of squelching grime; but the weasel was dug out and dead at his feet, so the young wolf was thoroughly pleased, regardless of casualty. Thunder drummed, sending vibrations through the earth, and serving up a fair argument for Svalinn to take his well-earned catch and head further inland alone to eat it. He pushed away the impulse to be selfish as he gave his dirtied pelt a shake, picked up the long-bodied carcass and began to scour the Sound for @Erzulie.