Hoshor Plains the remembering

<3!

as arktos begins to dig into his meal, he considers the herd and the season again, wondering how many cows would calf. calfs would make the herd likely a bit more aggressive, if he had to hazard an assumption. with more bodies to help with the borders, he could keep a closer eye on the herd. arktos finds himself fascinated by them, wanting to learn how they work: the broad beasts that would, in time feed the wolves of yellowstone and give them bedding and furs to trade.

the groundhog offers a mess, greasy fats mixed with blood and carrion dribble down his chin, a macabre staining of the fur there. a voice calls out to him and his salmon pink tongue drawls across his bloodied jowls ... in a pale and quickened effort to clean up.

fjall, greets arktos in return, recognizing the voice and raising to his paws; meal temporarily abandoned. he crosses the distance to meet fjall half way, wondering what had drawn the young man all the way out here but finding himself happy to see him either way. what brings you out this way? arktos lets his curiosity give voice to his thoughts, never much of a filter there to begin with.