Arrow Lake and he floats outside my prison window

ignorant to thorn's plight with the scavenging, stigmata busied himself with creating a suitable furrow in the ground for a moose-limb's worth of flesh. the work was tedious - back-breaking aside - and he was only a quarter through with the depth he wanted by the time thorn returned the first time.

he took this moment to pause; panting as he pulled himself free of the ground and gave his snow-draped pelage a firm shake. he wagged his tail while watching thorn, blinking appreciatively over the male's form as he deposited the lopsided hock nearby.