Shimmering Sands "it's calm before the storm, winslow."

The dark mahogany of his gaze glimmered as he rolled his eyes at Lionel's initial comment. Taste didn't seem to be at all how Knaven would describe the odd bouts of entitlement he witnessed in his brother. He knew better than to pick on the stag, though. Pride was something that ran deep in all of them - perhaps the one thing they shared that kept them from each other's throats. 

Peering through the drizzle, Knaven searched the upcoming coast for signs of a nearby wood. Ahead, he could see a shift in terrain, but the sentinels were nowhere in immediate sight. With the storm dampening their ability to see, the rogue imagined it would be some time before they would find their mother and father's land. 

"Maybe if you didn't eat scraps, you'd be rid of that taste," the earthen beast remarked slyly. He knew it would likely inspire an indignant scowl from the other yearling. With a smirk and a sidelong glance toward Lionel, Knaven realized that it had been some time since their last decent meal and his stomach clenched with the hunger that he felt. "Let's change course and see if we can find a rabbit or two in this mess," the rogue suggested, tossing his muzzle inland.