Porcupine Ridge catcalls and mercy blows

At Reyson’s urging Anselm pounced upon the remaining vole. His teeth crunched spine as he swallowed with hearty gusto. 

Three voles was better than nothing, and with Anselm’s slight frame that meal would go a long way. His tail bobbed as he considered Reyson’s question. Tilting his head back, Anselm sampled the wind and its unknown scents. 

Truthfully, he didn’t know where exactly he had gone off the trail. The winding range of forest beneath them all looked unfamiliar. I’d like to go back home, please. He looked to Reyson trustingly, thankful he had found someone to guide him back to his parent’s waiting embrace.