Bitterroot Valley ✢ Pretty boy

the snap of twig beneath paw from the pale spectre to his left does not go unnoticed by the stoneson. annoyance spears through him, a soft, low growl rumbling in the chest like the beginnings of a storm upon the distance as feral gaze snaps back to the elderly, the sick, the young of the herd.

but the warning had been heard and ezra's ears slick back against his skull.

hunger was an unpredictable thing, leeching into something akin to famine that lingers beneath his skin as if the godless has taken famine's essence into his body.

lack of purpose settles uneasily in ezra, leaving him adrift on an endless sea with no land in sight. golden gaze slides back to the stranger and he moves then, away from the herd — ignoring the hunger gnawing endlessly at his belly — towards the stranger.

this your herd? asks the stoneson upon his approach, germanic accent tangling heavily in his voice, raspy and rough from disuse.