Sleepy Fox Hollow But it only takes what it needs.

Anselm marched into camp with a half sodden branch in his jaws. One end was rivertouched; sprigs of duckweed dragged from one side, their fragile fronds leaving marks in the snow. The other edge was contorted like a gnarled antler. This end Anselm bore before him like a greatsword. 

His path was aimless, but in specific, he sought @Siku. One, to show him his absolutely epic prize — but also to taunt him. 

And maybe poke him with it a little bit.