Emberwood of mice

Raccoons did not appear to scurry so much as they waddled. Their disproportionate size made them appear quite strange; wide rear ends with narrow, almost rodent-like faces and fingers. Kierkegaard had never prized their existence. They were a trouble-making breed, and were more of a nuisance than anything else. The ashen brute was not prone to kill simply for the sake of killing, but he enjoyed the thrill of a hunt despite the size of his prey. Kierkegaard also was not opposed to eating the ring-tailed creatures. At any rate, his chase was cut short as the coon took to scurrying into the tops of a tree. Kierkegaard drew himself to a halt at the base of the conifer tree and tossed his head up to watch the foul rodent disappear with a cacophony of anxious cries. Turning his vibrant gaze back towards the shadowy male, the coal-coated brute dropped his head slightly and huffed a heavy sigh through his nostrils. “Your meal seems to have taken to the trees,” he remarked in a rumbling voice, his heated gaze darting back to where the animal had disappeared. Of course, Kierkegaard did not know that the creature was not intended for food to the dark stranger… he only knew that neither of the wolves would be catching it.