The Floodlands tip-toe, where beavers go

Truthfully Epic was interested in a lot of prey but never ever had beaver been on his plate before. These lands, they felt alien and foreign but at the same time thrilling and inviting. He would never pass down the opportunity to join a hunt and feast on the flesh of prey. Though before his golden eyes could scan more of his surroundings, analyze what the beaver buildings were really like there was another wolf entering the vicinity and apparently one who had more experience with killing these resilient buggers.

Before his eyes enfolded quite a show, as the beaster-master wolf was lucky enough to catch one. Although, not quite without taking a hit of his own. "Hey, did you just get beaver-slapped?" Epic wondered out loud, his words carried in light jest. Still when the beaver was dead he suddenly felt his stomach growling out loud, like a lion's roar. Epic had a lean frame and he wasn't called "Twiddlesticks" without a good reason. Never-ever would he turn down an opportunity to hunt. And somehow his stomach prayers had been hard by Laroche's good side. Lucky Epic (for once). 

"Yeah, I'd love to hunt these beaver critters." Epic said, turning to Laroche like he was a new student in the classroom while Laroche was the beaver-master, having killed these creatures for a zillion-and-one times. "So, how do I start?"