if I could write you a song

ooc. leaving details of like... every thread very vague

Dead things were easy to find, with winter approaching. Thus, he was contentedly picking at a cold, stiff jointed rat. He knew better than to gorge himself, so eating something small would prevent him from having to maintain self control. The tiny bones crunched under his teeth, and the meat was stringy. However, he wouldn't dare ask for anything from his masters. They had been kind to him, and he didn't want to earn their disdain or ire.

He wasn't too far from his little den beneath the shrub, but it was out of sight amongst the tall grasses. Enclosed from all sides, he felt oddly safe. Cocooned from the cruelty of the world, just him and his scavenged meal.