Big Salmon Lake Shinkō

truthfully, the act of eating was hardly different from the act of murder.

regardless he found comfort in the former. to eat was to fuel one’s self, fuel him so he might further spread the word. a necessary thing.

he would dip his head once more to begin. started at the otter’s stomach and let instinct lead him from there. only to find himself no better than a savage as he ravaged the creature for its meat. more starved than he had realized.

whenever their gluttonous moment had slowed, he would find himself sprawled on the ground. posed like a lounging king. the confident comfort oozed off of him, much like the otter blood that stained his wispy furs.

a thought, the hunter did not speak, but they seemed to communicate plans well enough —

do you crave a permanent home?

a simple yes or no would do well.