Whitefish River Pale Underbelly

Although his eyes remained cast aside, he found himself unfurling the tight ring he had created at the prospect of a meal. Wicken wanted to trust the stranger, but it was difficult given his circumstances. His already diminished pride would be taking another blow today, and it would surprise him if it ever was to recover with all of the abuse it had faced. He had very minimal knowledge in the realms of hunting, and the bulk of his food intake was scavenging or getting lucky to happen upon a sickly creature he could overpower. A fish sounded... good.

I'm named Wicken. What is your name? He tried his best to not sound nervous, but there was a wavering in his polite tone that gave him away. He rose to a standing position to reveal a lanky figure with too long legs. Patchy scabs littered his back left leg that gave slightly as he moved closer to the stranger. His tail waved behind him. If you could teach me how you catch them, I would be forever grateful.