Big Salmon Lake And the grass all smells the same

Stark eyed her with a mix of amusement and suspicion, her thin frame and quick, darting eyes telling him more than her words ever could. She was desperate, maybe a little clever, but certainly hungry. For a passing moment, he was silent, eyeballing her with a cold, judgmental glower. He wasn’t fooled, but he wasn’t entirely opposed, either.

Being on his own hadn't been a task for the wolf. Even back home, he kept to himself—did most things for himself. Hunting his own game was something he'd always had under lock, only if because he felt like he had to. Though he was born with a silver spoon between his teeth, he didn't keep it there for long. Of what Stark could remember, he kept close to his heart. He would never abandon his ideals.

He tsked.

"So," his voice was low and skeptical, "an ‘easy job,’ huh?" His gaze trailed over her, not unkindly, taking in the ribs jutting under her fur, the way her claws sank anxiously into the ground. She didn’t need to know he could see right through her little performance. "Odd thing to say when you look like you’ve hardly had a meal worth chasing."

Without waiting for her reply, Stark turned, scenting the air. The faintest hint of deer lingered on the breeze, enough to pique his interest. She had a point: hunting alone took its toll, and he could use the meat just as much as she clearly did. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Fine,” he grunted, eyes narrowing as he looked back at her. “But we do it my way. If you spook them, you’re on your own.”

Without waiting for a response, he moved forward, signaling her to follow. He spoke just loud enough for her to hear as they set off into the trees in search of cover, "Keep close and stay quiet."