Moonspear mooncalled

Sialuk divvied up the prize with precision and a decisive nature that suited her and her role well—Argent watched on, amusement gleaming in his eyes as his muzzle bowed lower to her words, arranging pieces as she saw fit.

There would be more to be had in days to come—Moonspear grew mighty with able bodies—and so he imagined larger hunts to be more possible in the days to come, particularly when some of their injured newcomers were able to partake once more.

He moved quietly—serpentine in stride—as he helped her organize, and then, silver gaze pointedly watched her work at the horns, prying at them. Forward he swept, front paws lifting to press upon the weighty meat of the carcass and assist in pinning it as she pulled—openly inquisitive. “Do these hold a purpose?” His birth pack would have discarded such an item spare for a play thing for the young—and so, he remained curious to the culture of the raindrop and what inspired her in the moment.