Bearclaw Valley Don't Know Much

The mountain of a man looked less like himself, today. He did not carry himself with great esteem, his head lowered almost to the dirt, while something dragged beneath his body. A lump of flesh was pinched between his teeth; coarse brown hairs were matted with blood, likewise the swine's nostrils had gore caked across the nostrils, as if it had died struggling for air when it had breathed its last breath. Revui was trying to transport it closer to a cache for safekeeping, and found it easiest to straddle the body and pull it in fits and starts, leaving depressions and bloody patches in the grass.

He stopped to rest his straining neck, to lick the blood from his muzzle and take a gander of his surroundings. The last thing he wanted was to overshoot his path and need to backtrack to a cache instead; the easiest hold he'd discovered was the base of the pig's thick neck, and having to change tactics would cost him time. There were patrols that still needed to happen.

As he stood over the dead thing and peered around, Revui noticed the black wolf. They did not appear busy with anything, so he huffed a sound in their direction to get their attention — striding a few steps to extricate himself from over the dead pig — and sized the stranger up with a glance. They did not appear to be working on anything, so that begged the question - what the fuck was he doing there, besides loitering?