King Elk Forest a journey (a dream of flight)

Oh, so Vein was the shortened name he had opted for. Crowfeather had never come upon someone with one so minimal, but he could only assume that those were the conventions that were used for most who were named in these parts.

To gain a frog, all he had to do was share his own moniker.

Crowfeather felt his chest thump with each heartbeat that racked his ribs.

I am From the Crow’s Wing, his introduction was offered still with a look of distrust, of uncertainty.

Who would offer a frog for a name?

The dark young figure then simpered, you can call me Crowfeather, I guess. As he too had selected a shortened version of his name, a shortened version that he too preferred for others to call him.

When the frog landed in a sloppy little fwump at his paws, he darted forward and sunk his sharp fangs into its plump little aquatic body. In a moment of time, Crowfeather was ravaging the prey he had been offered.