Duck Lake looking like a snack

She erects herself, providence the source in doing so. He peers with a squared head between his massive shoulders, offering a peaceable wag in acknowledgment. With slaked hunger, he was feeling much more amiable now. And who knows - he may find a compatriot in this female as he had Huntington.

Natjuk. The reticence that follows spoke of his allegiance: nothing, no one, alone. And he has willfully suffered because of it. The wounds on his face, chest, and arm have since scabbed over. Out of them all, he's convinced the cut on his upper arm will scar.

Good.

So, she runs with others. Given the numerous smells emitting from her person, he expected as much. He does not have much to offer in way of who he's associated with rather than where. Scents of fern and cattail, of wind and rime, exude from his windswept furs. There is also the smell of days old blood...and the one who harmed him.

While many subjects flutter through his mind - namely when his next meal will be - he is contrarily quiet. She approached him, after all.