Whitefish River Pale Underbelly

As the excitement died down, the conflict inside Wicken still remained. His eyes drifted between the two fish, but the prompt from his russet companion was all the push he needed. The meal in front of him was more than the young male had eaten in a week. He tried to carefully pace himself, but the two carcasses were soon stripped to minimal piles of bones at their paws. Wicken was teetering on the edge of being too full with his emaciated sides cramping at the unfamiliar feeling of nourishment as his stomach settled. 

His tongue licked his maw clean from the essence of the fish before he got to nudging the fish bones into the river with his nose. A precautionary measure that Wicken took whenever he ate to ensure that another soul would not happen upon it and decide to make quick work of the wolf that still smelled of a delicious morsel. He watched the fish from earlier swim about, nibbling on the bones. Cannibals, the lot of them.

Wicken's attention shifted from the fish back to Marcus with a hesitant expression clouding his features despite the lack of eye contact as his eyes were focused on the older males paws. Thank you, Marcus... Are you sure you're not hungry? I can catch you one as well. I probably need the practice. The soft spoken, silvery tone he beheld was accompanied with concern. His hinderance centered around the idea of his new found teacher seeing him as less than. An insecurity held deep that Wicken hoped to redeem himself by returning the favor.