Bearclaw Valley running in circles

A shudder ran through the pines, then caught in the boughs of a nearby patch of shrubs, overlooked by a giant old fruit tree. There was no fruit on it now, and the blossoms that struggled to bud were being scythed from the tree. They fell like bits of snow, fluttering against a backdrop of green.

Beneath the trees stood Revui: rather, he was angled in to a stooped position while sinking his teeth in to something lodged among the overgrowth. The object of his fixation was hard to discern in the shade, and so was his front-end, being shrouded in the same stark grey from his shoulders forward. The shuddering was exacerbated each time he shook his head or tugged back, trying to loosen whatever-it-was.

The taste of the boar's wiry old hide on his tongue wasn't pleasant. He hadn't even taken this one down; but upon finding the ancient looking beast struggling in its last moments, he had loitered until its demise, and now fought with the corpse.

It was a hefty thing in life — around two-hundred pounds — and while all the boars he had found were amber-colored or some shade of mud brown, this one was grizzled with age and scored with battle wounds. Should anyone ask, he'd probably claim the victory himself, although most of the fresher wounds resembled stabbing points, such as from tusks.

Alert to the scent of something as daunting as a boar, Ico was more inclined to turn away than to proceed onward — for he was a small lad, much better suited to dining on teeny critters than mighty beasties. But it was too late to turn tail, for he'd already caught sight of a most extraordinary scene. A great grey wolf heaving an enormous deceased pig into a clearing; tremendous prey that put most others to shame.

Goodness, did you kill that yourself? Ico asked before he could help himself, approaching cautiously with eyes as big as saucers.