Hushed Willows WindChill

"An amalgamation," the coywolf repeated with a swing of his tail. He knew the word, but he'd never heard it thrown out in casual conversation. Kyrell's deductions made sense, at any rate, and the coywolf wasn't too worried about running into something they couldn't handle since, y'know, they could always just choose not to handle it, if it came down to it. So he was happy to spring along.

Spring. Spring. Hop-spring.

"I guess that I would, too, if I was that big," he replied with another thoughtful swish of his tail. "Whitetail, I can do."

The trail was clearer, now, and therefore more interesting to Dusty Rose. It finally attracted his attention enough to pull that twitchy nose of his toward the snow, and he sped up with a double-kick of his hind legs in anticipation.

"Here's the thing, Mister Woodstalker," said Dusty Rose, lowering his voice to conspiratorial levels. "If it's just gonna be you'n'me on this, I'm gonna cut you a deal. We'll bring it down alright, but I want at least half the liver for myself. I don't mind to share the rest, of course — all for one and all that. But my coyote heritage means I need more organ meat that most."

It did not mean that at all, actually. But Dusty Rose wanted that liver, and he would work with whatever leverage he had available to him to get it.