Deepwood Weald tell me when it's over

within a few moments, jaws had sunken into sable hairs, rabbit skin thick around his fangs, meat tender, lean, perhaps due to the oranging of leaves; the changing of seasons. autumn was approaching, and so this meal would be savoured. soon, winter would leave the lands barren, and game would grow scarce. he would place his catch upon the forest floor, looking up and meeting the gaze of a stranger who stood a few ways away.

surprised, for a moment. then the scent of sólhárr drifted towards him. another forneskja wolf. hello, he pushed the sound from his throat. tone somewhat forced, awkward when it came to the common tongue. but the nod of his head that followed was that of polite greeting. you are forneskja wolf. i smell it on you. an acute observation. he nudged the rabbit towards the stranger, then. eat, brother. if you are hungry.