Cineviam had been wandering for a few days, following the lake’s edge. Having no real destination, he just kept on, catching small prey along the way. He had just caught a beaver, and it hung limp from his jaws, its flesh still warm.
It was fat. Cineviam salivated as he clutched the animal between his teeth, careful where he placed his paws as he made his way through the progressively marshy terrain. Since it had been raining, the lake was swollen and rose up into the banks a bit. His legs were pretty well caked in mud.
When he found a remotely dry and solid place, he bedded down and began to gnaw on the beaver. All he could smell was fresh blood; he wasn’t aware he was about to cross into pack territory.
Jan 05, 2018 01:34 PM
[ ignore ]