OOC: Short post is short.
So maybe Slade wasn't the best hunter. He pricked his ears as the familiar voice of Shawchert Menue called to him, and he suddenly realized just how scrawny his catch was. Of course he had been able to track it down quickly; it was winter, when the scarce prey around wasn't eating well either. Quickly he dug out a little hole in the snow and shoved the mouse in; maybe if he was hungry later he could go back to eat it. For now, he was being invited to have a little drink, and though he wasn't parched he might as well have a little.
"Hey, Shawchert," he greeted, surprising himself by how casual he was speaking to the pack's leader. "And sure, I'll have a little something." Slade walked over and sat down near the Luperci, finding his eyes drawn to the piece of wood in Shawchert's hand. A train of thoughts followed, and not for the first time Slade began to wonder what sorts of things hands could accomplish. His eyes still fixed on the block, he asked, "What'cha making there?"
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