Barrow Fields royal

@Stjornuati

The field isn't the most exciting place he's ever been, but Castor finds himself lingering. The ocean in one direction, the mountains the other; it's a decision he waffles on endlessly. Where will he make his new claim? So he hunts and sleeps and dozes in the field, idly tracks wolf scents in his spare time, and agonizes over his indecision. It's a simple existence for now, the kind of freedom he'd craved for the sake of healing from his loss. His kingdom...
He shakes his head slightly, glancing toward the sky and turning his thoughts elsewhere. It's midday now, and he's hungry again. Time to hunt. The prince puts his nose to the ground, searching for scents to track to his next meal.

The hunt and its resulting chase had gone well, the grouse he had caught laying near him, mangled and half eaten. The remains were enough to sate Miwa, and so he left them as he lay there, cleaning his paws and muzzle with long, sure licks of his tongue. A douse in the river they settled near would be enough to lift the pink from his fur, so there was little care for any spots he missed. 

It was only when movement distracted him that the wolf looked up, watching as another set his nose to the scents of the world. Was he, too, looking for a meal or something else? Stjornuati would simply watch until the boy slipped from sight or approached him.