Max doesn't have a table yet baaaaaaaw
Dawn broke as it always did, creeping through the entrance of his cave and reaching with golden fingers at his eyes. Max grunted and rolled over, curling his tail over his eyes. He was not a morning person by far, and would have been content to sleep to the afternoon if not for the tap-tap-tapping outside. Another huff escaped the coydog and he opened his eyes irritably. With a long, cat-like stretch, he extended all of his broad toes and pulled himself together with a shake. It was clear he cared little for grooming; his pelt was still stained by dirt and mud and a rather un-white shade.
It became apparent when he went outside what the never-ending sound was. A raven was perched on a rock, some sort of nut between its talons, and pecking at the thing sharply. While familiar with Ibsen, the Aquila’s bird, he was not yet able to distinguish him from the others and ignored the shape instead. With a lazy yawn and a flick of the tail he trotted away from the entrance of his cave, moving up and away from the slightly lower area where this conformation was found. The slope was not steep at all, but one noticeable by having traversed them for months. Max had spent more than half of his life within Inferni and knew the landscape as well as a coyote born into it.
He was heading eastward, intent on seeing if the other dog had left any morceau of the rather delicious stew from the previous few days. Between the two of them they had devoured most of it, especially after a night of sitting. This thought was halted abruptly by a call from the north. A large ear swiveled towards it, and after a moment of consideration, he turned and bounded off at a doggish trot. His pace was that obviously of his father (though he had never seen another dog until Rémy) and his tail curled up slightly as he went. The blood within him was apparent, between the size of his body and the peculiar way his eyes glinted with the savage madness of all spitz dogs.
It took him longer to reach the area, and as he scented the air horses and sheep bled into his senses. This eased him some; Max was familiar with both, though he preferred horses and hoped one day to have his own. As he neared, he spotted two figures; one was a reddish girl who barely looked like she was full grown, and the other was a tall woman. She looked fully coyote, so her height was impressive—as it stood, though, the halfbreed was taller than her by a head. His pace slowed only as he reached them, managing to catch the girl’s name. Max smiled, ever-yet resembling the spitz dog with his mottled tongue, and wagged his own tail in greeting. “I’m Max,” he offered, though belayed mentioning that he was a monster. Curious eyes turned to the tall woman, suspecting she was the ringleader of this operation.
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