Whitebark Stream even salt looks like sugar

Night saw the silver-ticked outcast slip quietly between the grasses as he made his way along the riverbank, the limp body of a rabbit grasped firmly in his jaws. Blood dripped incessantly down his chin - it was not particularly obvious atop the shadows of his pelt but still Lars felt it. And disliked it. Majorly.

Dropping the warm carcass atop the frozen ground, he picked his way down to the waters edge and submerged his muzzle, opening his maw to drink simultaneously. Once satisfied, he was careful to avoid getting any other part of himself more wet than necessary when he caught sight of a ghostly white figure on the far side of the opposite bank. Whoever it was appeared lost in thought as they gazed up at the sky - and Lars followed suit for a moment. He’d had plenty of lonesome nights to explore the constellations sure, yet he’d never really...noticed them? Always, he had merely been glad of their distant company.

Quarry forgotten for now, the rogue approached the figure carefully, drawing himself up to his full height before coldly calling out a swift “hello?”