Bramblepoint growing strong

The thicket turned up nothing when they appeared, no sign of the moose that Hydra had seen tossing and turning and carrying on. There was a permeable silence here not unlike the one that settled along the mountains, though at least he could take some small comfort in the chitterings of pine thrushes in the wood. Ravens were ever present, a not-so-mute sign that something could be scavenged from the grounds, but they did not look for this either.

There had been enough death, so to speak, as of late.

The apples however were more of a toy to Dirge as Hydra sampled the various wares. It had started with the rotten ones, the ones that had come beneath an errant foot attached to a wolf far too busy watching her fuss and taste a partially frozen treat. He had taken to kicking a few more of the less favorable ones away after that, their mushy sides already a host to whatever would feast and house themselves within, what would survive versus what would not.

When she beckoned him closer, he was deigned to shaking out a hind leg that found another unfortunate, weak-skinned delicacy. It wasn't much of an affront to him, but the idle time had picked at an still weary mind—he went to snatch the apple she had picked with no warning, and seized it between his jaws proudly. His gaze locked onto her, ever watching and waiting.

Well? The quirk of his brow questioned her as he turned away.