Silver Creek sail

Rosings crew?

Dash trotted alongside the creek at a steady clip, chomping down on a deer tibia he had scrounged from an abandoned kill-site. With winter setting in, cracking the marrow out of an old bone was what settled for a meal these days. The boy halted, allowing his apple green eyes to trace the ebb and flow of the water as it swirled around the creek's partly-submerged boulders. 

Without even thinking, the boy tossed the bone out into the current, hoping to watch its path as the water carried it down the falls and flumes. The bone sank immediately, and only when it was out of sight did Dash realize he had just tossed away his lunch. "Fuck," he swore at himself, enjoying the feel of the explicative as it rolled freely off his togue. That was one advantage to being alone, he supposed--  no old biddies around to tell him what he can and can't do.