Gilded Bay i live in the shrubbery, cause that’s all i crave

sirin pads closer as the remains are pushed towards him; gratefully drawing the mess of bones and bits of meat and scales stuck to them closer with a large paw. head bends to begin to gather as much as he can in his jaws, only to pause at the question. moonbeam gaze rises to study the stranger, followed by the slow rise of his head as he contemplates the question, taking longer to translate it in his mind.

catch stupid birds. seagulls were scavengers by nature; but so too was sirin. when he'd had his first name as a cub: mutt by the fisherman whose home he'd been born into, he had been taught by his mother that the birds were lured by garbage. scraps. and while they squabbled: they were relatively easy prey.

keep busy. easy prey.