Silverlight Terrace we devoured the gods

the mixed metal-and-salt scent of his own hunt leaves garland noseblind, ignorant to the scene he stumbles into until the moment he lays eyes on the other wolf. he lets out a soft gasp, dropping the fish into the dirt as his jaw slackens with the shock of the sight. it's been so long since he's seen the face of desperation, so brutal and outright like this. the stranger is a ragged creature, giving a half-mad impression with the way he tears into what garland considers a meal for scavengers. pity swells in his chest, despite his own rumbling hunger. his own ribs peek faintly through the pale gold of his flanks, but this malnourishment is self-imposed; born of his own lack of will to live, rather than bitter circumstance. even in these first scant moments, it seems to garland that the stranger's own reasoning is different. why else would he be tearing at a stale corpse so ravenously? uncertain yet wanting to help, garland takes a step back and chuffs softly, abandoning his fish. hey — if you're that hungry, you can have this, he gestures with his nose to the significantly fresher food he'd left on the ground. it's probably better than days old goat.