Moonspear feed the bear

pauk was not alone for long. the melodic — albeit kind of shrieky — tone of his sibling was unmistakable. he ignores the budding annoyance which grappled for his attention in place of entertaining their presence, greeting them with a glance of his baby blues and a thud of his tail.
hi, pie, he responds, shifting his gaze down at his muddied feet which were now flecked with shades of angry, dusky brown. m'buryin' it. it's dead.
he points to the garish talon marks which shredded the flank of the poor thing, which now looked a sickly, muted shade of red. see? some'n deaded it.