Stavanger Bay won't you carry it in

he says he won't take it, but the hunger in the pale—coated wolf's stomach and bones taints his ability to accept that with confidence. as he moves, silver eyes follow, intense and unblinking.

he has to drop the fish to speak, and he does so warily, a paw resting on it to give him the upper hand.

just in case.

considering that i've been doing this since i was grown enough to, yes.

the ocean breeze tussles the longer fur on the back of his neck—or really, everywhere, given the state of the season and its persistent bitter chill.

we only ate fish. shelled, unshelled. doesn't matter. only went after land creatures if there were no fish to be found.

eyes remain narrowed, but he sits, front legs caging in his catch.