Qeya River Marble rye

Too young? Ksura stole a glance at Kekoa again, and chuffed. He didn’t often study the features of other wolves, and avoided eye contact as a habit unless it was needed- but it didn’t take him long to realize that within those eyes was the gleam of youth, a face lightly framed, a build not yet completely finished. He bore wounds, but no signs of aging- he was a yearling, but not much more than that, Ksura reckoned.

Well, He said, giving the trunk a push as it swayed toward him. You will this year. He said, pushing the trunk back toward Kekoa. The top of the tree swayed gently, the raccoon dug its claws into the white bark. 

I’ve hunted deer, elk…Sheep, obviously. Mountain goats too; never caribou, but anything with a pulse can be killed. He said. He glanced wolfishly up toward the raccoon, and once the tree swayed back in his direction again, he gave it another push.