Whitebark Stream yes i am still alive unfortunately

the old and weathered wolf turns with his one good eye to peer in the direction of the loner male.

he comments on kursat's sleeping ability, much to his chagrin. the elder huffs in response, a cold wisp of breath visible, as he slots the hide into the shallow part of the stream and begins to dip it slowly.

and who 're you supposed to be, boy? he begins, dragging the sufficiently wetted hide from the stream when he decides it will suffice. now, he drags it to a large stone to begin drying. to bake out beneath the sun, even though winter only allowed for slow progress.

he would not leave here until it was dry, though. loyal like an old dog to that disgusting muskox hide.

but he takes the time to turn on the man and eyeball him slowly. up, down, as he lowers himself with a wince to haunches. mm. kursat grunts. i don't know what great sky is and i don't give a damn. now go on.

he begins to wind himself down, belly to the cold snow. sighing with relief. gotta rest my bones.

yes, walking five feet to the stream and back was strenuous work for an old timer like he.