Great Bear Wilderness pale touch

The final bloodshed came and went just as quickly as the hunt had began; her blood pooled out to soak into the eager ground as they both composed themselves. Even with a lolling tongue, Dirge found an appeased smile come to him. He hadn’t come out there to hunt but it was a job well done all the same and his hunger would soon be as vanquished as their prey.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” came his amused rejoinder. “A shame you belong to the wilderness, I could always use another good hunter in my pack.” Someone that might have introduced a little more friendly competition and companionship to his yearlings. Another teacher who clearly understood the aspects of reading even the most minute of details and would act upon them.

“I’ll let you take your spoils first, you’ve earned it,” he went on, smearing blood with his tongue across his muzzle. Better to let the wanderer have his fill, because whatever he did not take or eat Dirge intended to rally his pack for. The doe’s body would not go to waste—the wolves of Moonspear would surely pick it clean for all it was worth. And a job well done certainly earned a kindness.