Hoshor Plains Betcha dinner is a doozey

You rang? ;)

Lo and behold, the tangerine-coated wolf had gone and nicked some kind of shrew from a cache and now pranced happily through the snow with it aloft; oblivious to the pair of wolves slinking in the frozen weeds, eyes closed, utterly blissful. His tail-tip flicked to the beat of his swagger, the appendage held high like a triumphant flag.

The shrew wouldn't be enough for a full meal but it would be a nice snack to start off his day. Yes, that's right, start off. He'd just woken up from a toasty nap beneath one of the rare spindly-armed trees that scattered the plains; when he'd woken he had been buried, but he had been warm, filling that tiny cavern where his body roosted with his heat until his hunger (and need to piss) pulled him to his feet.

But yes, here he was - practically frolicing - while humming a jaunty little tune to himself.