book 4: drinks for two

Chickens and maybe even goats. Well, Ethne would definitely be a target. Gil may have heard through Haydee and the grapevine that wound through Boreas that she kept chickens. Nice and plump and fat. As long as Jael tended to them, he wouldn't mind a raid down into Auster. They'd have to avoid The Hallows for now. Gil was being tactical about all of this. After the raid from Armada on their doorstep, he didn't want to go pissing anyone off... yet. He would rather friendly fire than an all out war. That was how he liked it and that was how it would be.

Letting his gaze focus on the fire, he nods and takes a swig. Chickens and goats, that he could make happen. He wouldn't admit openly that he was doing it for her. No, it would be for the pack. The isle's natural resources would dwindle eventually and unless they obtained a wolf that enjoyed fishing, they had to find an answer. Maybe Jael was the answer he was looking for. Another time to think about that... right?

Instead, his brain switches to the next topic and he lets out a snort. A gruff noise as he swigs from the bottle again. The world around him dances and he lets out another sigh. Fucking Ignis. Man needed to learn to keep his dick in his pants. "I told 'im to stash the brats iin the archipelago until Deluge shoves off with Scald," his words are slurring and he doesn't notice Jael scooting closer. Or maybe he does, but he doesn't do anything about it. His hearing is still muffled by the way the booze clogs his ears so the shuffle of sand beneath her paws goes unnoticed. He doesn't mind though.