Kicking it into gear!

Wendigo bounded onto the scene with a squealing fox dangling from his jaws. His mother's call had interrupted him at play and while he would have ignored anyone else, he couldn't ignore mummy even if she wanted to talk boring pack stuff. So he brought his fox with him.

He wove through those gathered scattering merry, lispy greetings all the while. When that was done he trotted over to one of the warm volcanic vents, flopped down, and then scooted his butt as close to it as he could bear. Then Wendigo killed his fox, who protested about as loudly and as pitifully as one might expect, and then he set about skinning it. It would make a fine headdress.

"Speech"