He watches as she shimmied down the trunk into the dip.
He watches as she jumped out, looking as if she would fall in, however did not.
He watches as she beams at him, her jaws full of what he can only think of as grass.
And he watches with a flat stare. Crippled. If she had been of his family she would have been left in the snowy glaciers of the north to die. However she was not...and perhaps things were different here, where none followed the old ways. Surreal was the only one he had met that seemed to know and respect the old ways.
Having had enough of watching, he rose and ghosted over, muscles over his back and shoulders tightening. The old scar on his shoulder tugged uncomfortably, but he ignored it, gaze focused upon the russet female. "Bad leg. Yet live. Why." His tone was impassive, gaze flat and expressionless. Were the folk of these lands so queer as to let the crippled live, let live those that could not provide any use to the pack save pupsitter, and to the wilds as nothing more than fodder for the scavengers?
