Whitebark Stream whitefang

He stared at her with bright eyes, wide and untrusting. He saw how she bristled. One foul step and he could be as much of a meal as that fish between her paws -

But he had learned the intricacies of nuance, of knowing how to see, in the slightest gesture, the turning thoughts of another wolf's mind. The gentler ones, anyways. There were some who never let their composures break. This wolf was not one of them. He saw this, in the softening of her face.

She spoke kindly to him, and Vaska, having kept such voiceless company in recent days, merely took a tender step forward, as though uncertain, before he scuttled forward, hunched over and eager to have a small fill of the kill she offered.

The taste overwhelmed him! So much better than the carrion. And he gulped back one, two bites - but ate so fast it came back up again. Unfazed, he ate this, too, side-eyeing the big wolf and watching for any signs he had taken more than she'd intended to give.