Wapun Meadow No Admittance (Except on party business!)

The cur began to circle him; almost vulture-like, the bird would think with a sneer, a clattering of his beak. The closer the wolf got the wider the bird opened its limbs, fanning dark feathers, puffing the chest—hopping, with a scree, closer to the body.

The offering was appealing if only for its newness. In all his many years—so many more than any hound had access to—none had tried to barter; he thought the creatures too stupid, to be honest. This one thought himself to be cunning. The bird inhaled and chuckled, the sound made more dissonant, charmless, but he clacks his beak and folds back his wings.

A tilt to the narrow face, a blink; Cadaver ducks his head ever so slightly, almost a bow, and again comes the confirmation: clack! clack!