Blackfoot Forest Furling forests for the soft

Moz’s sense of humor was not lost on him. While rare, he had grown used to it. There was a sense of comfort in the idea that she could tease him. Her dry tones and aloof nature gave Kierkegaard a sense of home that he would not have been able to obtain any other way. He had not realized how truly attached he was to his sister until he had spent a short deal of time without her. It was more than reliance. Moz was the only family he knew, and so he could not imagine his life without her. Whether she felt the same was of no concern to him. Kierke’s gaze fell on her peeling lip and the quick flash of her canines. His brow quirked only slightly at the sign of frustration, but he listened to her explanation. Coyotes… dreadful creatures, bent on scavenging to obtain nutrition. He frowned heavily at the thought that she had lost a catch to the awful animals. “I have met several coyote and wolf hybrids here,” he remarked with a bitter edge to his voice, almost as though he thought they were unclean beasts. There had only been one that he could recall with fondness… if the ashen brute could feel such a thing. Leaning forward, the pressure on his paw was enough to cause him to grit his teeth. “I suppose we will have to hunt, then,” his rumbling voice struck the air without any particular emotion. It was a fact of life; to survive, they were required to eat. Being on their own, however, meant that their trials were harder. Without much pause to it, Kierkegaard glanced to his sister and frowned. “We may need to consider a pack.” It was something that he had been thinking on since the autumn winds had carried a hint of winter chill. It was almost certain that they would not survive the winter in the Teekon area if they remained on their own.