Big Salmon Lake Be my Yoko Ono

He would admit- there was something very lacklustre about the taste of waterlogged venison, and the smell of its innards wasn't exactly enticing either- but Bronco was hungry, and more or less immune to the reek of rot and other foul things. He'd probably rolled in things that smelled worse than this, so he had no problem eating it. It was cold, but he didn't mind- it would feed him, and he could take a good chunk of it back for Meerkat- though he didn't look forward to dragging food halfway up a mountain with a full belly. Maybe he'd have to rethink that idea. 

Regardless, he froze and pulled his muzzle from the tear he'd made in the doe's skin at the sight of a pale figure approaching. The male halted- but his gaze was stark, and Bronco wasn't entirely sure how to read his expression. His eyes were odd, and he found the crimson hue of his red eye to be unsettling so he focused on the softer, pine green of the left. Still unsure yet what the male's intentions were- and knowing that strangers could be aggressive over food, especially starving loners- he bared his teeth in a silent grimace just long enough to express the stress and pressure he felt now, given the fact he couldn't simply eat in peace. 

He tore a few more pieces of meat free even as the male approached as he seemed to be more fixated on getting a drink. Bronco was inclined to believe that he need not leap to the assumption that he would be challenged for the meal, but he couldn't be too careful. So he kept eating, but didn't take his eyes off the pale male as he drank. Sizing him up, he looked like a formidable opponent; if he had any Arctic wolf heritage in him, which Bronco suspected, that would account for his size. He caught the flicked of light in the male's eyes several times, and every time he looked over, he was greeted with another silent flash of teeth- a reminder that he was not exactly offering to share his meal, at the moment.