Bronze's comment has her thinking for a moment. If she had the resources? Was the whole world they lived in not a resource? A stick on the ground was not simply a stick, but a trigger for a trap or a piece to be woven into a basket. Leaves could be used for bandages or the cover of a pitfall. Then she remembers the time she has spent with Spider. The lessons from her mother. Some wolves were not born and raised within packs. They had to fend for themselves and were not raised to learn new things every day. To them, the forest, the mountains, they were simply terrain and a force to be fought instead of utilized. So as much as Ursa wants to make a puppy-immature comment, she chooses not to. Instead, she focuses on the work, noticing how he comes closer and seems intrigued.
Pleased for the company, she smiles up at Bronze and gives him a nod. Leaning back so she can lift up her paws, she shows them to Bronze. "See, we don't have thumbs like Mr. Raccoon," the companion holds the knife in hand and apprehensively scoots closer to Bronze. "Mr. Raccoon does the slicing of the skin, you just have to hold the hare still for him so the cuts are clean. Once the fur and skin is cut open, you can help roll and pull it away. It's hard at first. I'm still not as good as mama, but practice helps," Ursa nudges the hare closer to Bronze so that he can work easier. "Once it is flayed, uh the skin is all pulled away, we can lay them out with rocks on the ends to help it lay flat and then they can dry in the sun," the pup points a paw over to one of the skins she had setup the other day that is still drying beneath a few rocks.
