Oystercatcher Tide Pools A man with intent on his face

The flock took flight, and the irritating noises now ceased. Left now with only the crashing of waves in the background, the Bull dropped the corpse to his feet. Apathetic gaze stared down the tip of his muzzle, but it was not directed at the prey he caught. Instead, he fixed his sights upon a black wolf; company the old man was undoubtedly aware of, yet saw no reason to address until the boy drew nearer.

An eyebrow arched slowly; voicing a question without the use of husky, harsh vocal cords in action. The Bull returned his nod. Subtle enough that it could be taken for him aligning his head to rest naturally at the height of his broad shoulders. He cared little about the sea-dweller dipping his toes; attention shifted to his meal, the Bull worked on shredding feathers from his snack.