Phoenix Maplewood all those empty rooms

pride be as it may, there's no avoiding basic need to survive. the scent and sight of food can't be ignored. it matters little to him that it's old—it's more food than he'd come across in who knows how long, and the chance can't be wasted.

legs as tired as they may be, he follows suit, dipping his head to sega before closing the gap further. one last glance is cast his way before he pulls at the carcass with his teeth, a paw holding it still for easier access.

he shouldn't take too much, but it takes time for him to eat enough that he feels confident enough that his hunger will be sated for a while. he should be embarassed that he'd eaten so quickly—so ravenously, but he can hardly be bothered.

thank you, another incline of his head, remaining in a laying position not far from the corpse. the cold lasts a long time. so does the darkness. it only gets colder.

fur can protect him, but it's not always enough. not in the bitter winds and the bite of hail and vicious snow.

hard to know when to go.