Wheeling Gull Isle a turkey in a turtle's shell

There was another stranded man upon the island, according to Miseria. Mojag was glad that the man was alright; he knew Sweetharbor would do its best to tend to him, and he would do his best as well.

Seeing himself as a man of the island at this point, Mojag knew his role would be one of a hunter and protector - he wasn't quite grown in to that role, but saw himself as such. It was enough to motivate him to do little patrols of the more established areas of the pack.

Beyond that, he sought out any trails throughout the central hills that might be home to game; on more than one occasion he came across the scent of rabbit — but to him that was a turn-off.

Perdition had not been on the island for very long at all, but what he was starting to remember about chronic pain was that, while rest was often the best thing for it, it wasn't the only thing for it, and resting for too long only left his mind empty enough to feel miserable about his various conditions. Movement sometimes helped temporarily relieve some pain--although too much movement made it worse--and it also helped keep his mind active and focused on other things.

So he walked. Slowly. But still, he walked. And, after a time, he came upon another island wolf, a dark-pelted one with yellow eyes. Young, but growing into his adult body. He inhaled and held it for a long time, and then released and approached the pup, wondering if he had the energy for a conversation, or anything else. "Hello."

He hadn't caught anything yet, and while there were a myriad of scents to tell Mo to go whichever way, he hadn't made up his mind; the boy had spent time roaming the hills by the point that the stranger appeared, and he stopped immediately to turn his full attention upon him as he ambled closer.

What startled Mo was the vivid blue of the stranger's eyes; it was so much like the sky at sundown, he almost expected their expression to darken the longer he looked upon it.

Hi! You're the new guy, Mo erupted in saying. I'm Mo! Are you hungry? I was jus' hunting. He wanted to tack on a boast about being a hunter for the island but realized a second later that'd be sort-of rude, and also redundant.

Perdition flinched at the boys' explosion of speech, ears folding back along his head--which wasn't helpful because sometimes it was hard for him to understand what people said to him. The words jumbled together into one long rambly confusing mess, and he stood for a moment, blinking several times, and tried to pull it all apart again into something coherent.

"Did... Did you say your name was Mo?" he asked, after a few seconds. "I..." He grimaced. "I have a hard time hearing sometimes." What else had the boy said? Something about hunting? "I'm afraid I wouldn't be very helpful in a hunt, but..." He sighed, thinking. Bartholomew would probably expect him to pull his weight somehow if he decided to stay on the isle. "What are you hunting? Maybe I can give you a few pointers."

The man was networked with more scars than Mojag had ever seen before. He hadn't taken his injuries in to account when he'd spoken before, and now that the man explained himself, Mo felt a little stupid for it. His ears turned back upon his head and he took on a sheepish, apologetic curve to his body to briefly, wordlessly say as much.

Those ears scooped forwards again to listen to the man's struggled speech. I haven't decided what to hunt yet, he answered. And if you like, you can rest while I hunt for you! One day I'll be the best hunter in Sweetharbour. It was a dream he'd carried since his days in his village. Now that Mojag was here at the end of the world, he saw no reason to give it up.

I was thinking of trying for fish, the boy admitted next. He was careful with his words now - enunciating, speaking with a deliberate air so that the man would not struggle to comprehend. He hoped it helped. —but, the only fish I've ever seen are very small.

Perdition saw the boy's embarrassment, and was embarrassed in turn, though for what reason he wasn't sure. He cleared his throat and stared pointedly away, hoping this awkward feeling in his chest that made him want to flee would diminish.

Mo told him that he could rest while he hunted for him, and Perdition only felt more awkward. He was nothing but a burden here, barely able to move some days, overcome by pain; his concentration lapsed as well as his hearing...

'—but, the only fish I've ever seen are very small.'

Speaking of a lapse in conversation...

He snapped his head up, realizing that he'd missed some of what the boy had said. "Fish... yes. Um..." He glanced away, trying to think of something constructive to say. He wasn't sure if he'd ever hunted fish... He took a deep breath, forcing his mind to focus. "Fish are startled easily, and unlike prey on the ground, past a certain point, you cannot follow to chase them. You cannot swim and hunt at the same time. Stay in the shallows where you can stand and wait. Patience is key. Be as still as you can. Become like a stone and the fish will come to you. Then you must strike quickly or all hope is lost."

All hope is lost? Was he teaching the boy to fish or to fight? Clearing his throat again, he nodded once to Mo and tried to smile, but it only came out as a grimace, like always.

It seemed that, even with his effort, the man struggled. Mojag wished he could do something more to help him! But after a lapse in the conversation there came many words, as if this man knew how to fish and what to look for, and soon there was a lesson to be gathered.

Mojag listened intently. He was thrilled that this man willingly shared such details! He would try to recite these things to himself so that he would not forget, at least by thinking them over and over, and become a better hunter of fish.

You know so much! Mojag said. He was elated.

Fish sound like very difficult prey, admitted the boy next. I will try to be patient. I will wait and become like stone, and when I have caught you many fat things to eat, I will bring them! His tail was wagging, and he was practically hopping from paw to paw with excitement, which was proof enough it would be a very long time before Mojag had the skills to sit and be quiet for the fish.