Phoenix Maplewood maybe I can drown

she responds to his question with a 'no' that wintersbane immediately doesn't believe but not for any other initial reason than the fact that she was licking a tree; despite her assurance that it was good wintersbane cannot fathom ever licking a tree himself. then again, there was only one time he'd been that hungry ...and by now he was too old to remember it. his lips tug into terse skepticism that he makes no grand gesture to hide; proved right by the loud gurgle of her stomach.

he watches as she squares her shoulders and tells him that she's not hurt and that she'll hunt; giving him a firm nod. my wound is not so bad that i am incapable of hunting, he protests; but does so gently, rasping timbre a whisky soaked lullaby. sure, it made him a mediocre hunter presently but mediocre was ...enough.

iana might not be happy with him if he upset her careful ministrations to the wound but he would deal with it if and when the time came. he was nothing if not an unruly patient and he surely deserved a tongue lashing or two ( and who knew, it might be good for him ). a soft sigh follows his words; an acceptance. wintersbane is many things but he is not the kind of man to take independence from a woman. there's a rabbit warren not far from here, he gestures east with his muzzle. we'll both hunt and split our spoils — he gives a small pause before asking, sound fair?