Barrow Fields Something with blood.

Fish was fine. But after a while it all started to taste like salt. Slimy salt, which was the worst kind of salt. Sometimes a wolf needed more than just a full belly. Especially a wolf like Pepper, where food was one of a few of life’s joys. 

It was bright and early, orange sun just now peeking over the horizon, sending long shadows over the thin layer of freshly fallen snow that covered the browning field in puffy patches. The cold ground stung his paws, and the frigid air seemed to permeate his bushy coat with ease, but it’d never stopped him before. He might be a little slower than previous winters, but he had every intention of bringing something down today.