Slay snorted in amusement at Leland's fishing comment, unable to keep the sloppy grin from his whiskery face.
"Well, don't tell my alphess, but I do the same thing. How do you think I got so good at fishing? And yet, I'm the head hunter around here!" He chuckled at the irony, although it had been he himself that volunteered for the position. It sounded masculine and exciting, but really, it was the laziest job he could have taken since he was only required to help during full-pack hunts. Cercelee was the only one who occasionally demanded that he fell her some prey, and even then, there were ways of evading the exercise it required...
The big arctic wolf yawned deeply, pink tongue curling in the autumn sunlight. Just thinking about work was making him sleepy all over again. His wide paws crunched through the thickening layer of dead leaves, adding colour and texture to the fading fields. "Here we go, the Dahlia graveyard! These are all old human tombstones, decorated with their writing and their religious stuff. In the summer, lots of flowers grew here - so this is where I sleep! Most folks don't poke around here, so it's nice an' quiet, mate." He gave a wave of his ebony tail, appearing pleased with himself for finding the perfect aboveground 'den'. He had no idea if there were any wolves buried here, and if there were, it would probably frighten the superstitious wolf into finding somewhere else to nap.
"If we head thataways," he gestured with a nod of his muzzle, "we'll hit the coastline, that section of the beach we own. There's a dock there - it's great for catching seafish, because you can trot out to the edge of it without getting wet!" It seemed as though this tour was focused less on things that would interest Leland, and more about food and sleep, but the enthusiasm was to be appreciated.
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
