oh the river, oh the river, its running free

For @Kierkegaard rambles and pointlessness ahoy~

The rabbit made no sound as it scurried across the coastline, lost and yet exhilarated. Rabbits were not made for long stretches of beach, the cover offered was poor and unfamiliar. But the rabbit was young and foolhardy and though as a beast of prey it was prone to fear above all else, it felt the vague thrill of adventure as it wandered. Nose wiggling and ears twitching it continued its last journey, blissfully unaware of what was coming for it. The sea lions for which the shore was named seemed nonthreatening, and the rabbit's dark eyes took them in with wonder. Trembling with excitement the rabbit poised for a bounding leap —

A swift dart forward and with a harsh, unyielding snap, Talluak grabbed the rabbit between his jaws. He was a massive beast, ghost white and draped with a cloak of crimson and gold. Talluak bit down as the rabbit screamed, blood pooling hot and heavy in his slavering jaws as the rabbit died. Golden eyes took in the salty shores and pale daylight creeping through the fog and he snorted with satisfaction as he dropped the rabbit down by his own feet and began tearing into the warm, rich flesh. Life as a lone wolf was not the greatest thing in the world, but he had found none worthy to follow as of yet.

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Thank you so much for starting!

The air was colder. With each passing night, Kierkegaard could feel the drop in temperature. It was as though the entire atmosphere was preparing for the coming winter. As his long legs carried him along the coast, each rolling burst of water from the ocean seemed to spray him in a frigid mist. His ashen pelt was spattered with droplets and salt. The fur along his neck and shoulders stood tall against the cold. Cold weather meant scarcity in prey animals. The Sairensu male knew this better than most. Trying to survive as a loner was both ambitious as well as burdensome. Yet, Kierkegaard had made it close to his fourth year. Another winter would be no more than a blip on his life’s map. Sharp eyes squinted as he caught sight of a golden-hued wolf in pursuit of a rabbit. Narrowing his brows, Kierkegaard lowered his head and continued to press forward along the shoreline. His jack-o-lantern gaze did not leave the richly colored stranger as he closed the distance between them, however. There was something familiar about the other wolf… not as though Kierkegaard knew this wandering male. Their spirits were – perhaps – forged from the same fire.