There was a lot to think about, to plan for and deconstruct and prepare. So much had happened in a few short, sweet days; Hecate's leaving, Skoll's missed deadline, but most significantly, his and Morganna's agreement and all that went with it. At that particular moment, Craw was busy mulling over Celandine, and how pleasantly unexpected the situation with her had gone. He pictured her face, full of fire and defiance and yet also an awareness of her own vulnerability, as he gnawed at the thigh bone of the pig the pack had killed back in the heights of winter. The bone was thick with grooves left by numerous canines' canines, and the simple act of chewing on something hard was comforting. An outlet for frustration, a killer of idleness.
There were only so many different ways he could fill his time before everything would change. Ultimately, the timing was down to Morganna, who had promised her own deadline. The difference was that he trusted her to keep it.
Pulling his head back, he considered the tooth-marked femur for a moment, and then drew his tongue down its length, slowly, almost like a rough caress, feeling its contrasting ridges and smoothness. All the meat had long gone, and even much of the easily-accessed marrow had been sucked or scooped out, leaving only a thick length of hard bone which was good for little more than stress-relief.
Erebos, she'd said, and he pondered the name silently just as he pondered the boar's bone, with open acknowledgement of its pointlessness. Maeve. It wasn't as though he weren't prone to get stuck on names... Pharika still rolled around inside his head occasionally, but nothing had come of the ambiguity the woman had left behind, so he was forced to conclude that it had been nothing but coincidence. The uncertainty was murder, though. The wheeze in his throat taking on a rougher, coarser edge as he pushed a little growl into it, just another manifestation of irritation, Craw shifted the bone about so that he had access to the other end, and started crunching anew.