10-03-2011, 04:16 PM
Carrion sat under a huge oak tree in the northeastern part of the Inferni pack lands. A small fur blanket underneath him protected him from the rough, uncomfortable roots that laced across the surface of the earth below him- the tree was an old oak, undoubtedly older than any of these packs... older than the buildings that crested the skyline, maybe. Always taken for granted... Yet it had lived this long, and it'd live a long time yet. The coyote that sat beneath had a strip of cowhide leather in his teeth, and a spear in one hand, the head in the other. He slid the socketed end of the cast iron spearhead- a souvenir from the forges in New York- over the wooden stave, and began wrapping the leather strip around it, careful to keep tight tension as he twisted. He didn't notice the weak part of the leather as it stretched thin and snapped with a light pop, the head falling onto the mat before him. He growled, picking up the weapon and pitching it blindly ahead of him. It skipped a few meters even as it landed, kicking up dust. Carrion stood, his necklaces glinting in the slowly disappearing sun. He walked over, picked up the head, and looked at the darkening skyline. It was getting dark. He should be setting up camp soon.