Shy Deer Steppes With Paws All Riddled In Sand

He prefers cleaner kills, but he didn't want to risk being hit by the flailing ungulate's limbs. It was always a risk when they died, clean kill or not. Their limbs, in death, gained undue strength. He stepped away, panting lightly as his body relaxed.

He knew the term. Living down south by the border, he had interacted with wolves speaking the Spanish tongue before outside of his enclave. It comforted him to have this little sliver of home brought before him. He nodded back in understanding, still a bit sore from his tumble. He eyed the carcass, wondering which part he would take. It would be too far for Neverwinter, but a little would be enough to tide him over for a while. When he regained some of his breath again, he spoke. What pack are you from?