Fisher's Split shapes falling out of the fringe

He snorted, eyes crinkled some with amusement.

Although his serious nature sank back in again soon enough. Well, He hummed as he briefly licked his lips. You got a crew? He had a feeling that he did not need to explain the edge of winter to this boy. Haggard by it some already, even if his spirits seemed to remain relatively high.

He imagined whatever drove this boy to be out here alone though was motivation enough. Or a tragic story that waited to be sprung or snapped upon him. After all, Llinnea had her own share of hefty woes when he had discovered her.

The lightheartedness between them was short-lived.

All seriousness soon settled onto the man's features as he began his probing of questions, not that Claw really had room to deny him such answers considering he did feed the boy. With a content sigh due to his gorged belly, he slid down onto all fours and rolled to the side slightly to make himself more comfortable for his interrogation. "Just me, myself and I." Claw admitted with no hesitation, a small shrug of his shoulders following suit. "Had a sis, but she died." He paused then, gaze settled on the man's face to gauge his reaction to his life story unraveling.

"Use to travel with my mother, but once I got old enough to fend for myself she left." He continued, knowing something about his parents was one of if not the next questions that would flicker off his tongue. "Don't know who my sperm donor is, though." He tacked on with a snort. Not that Claw owed his mysterious old man anything should he ever cross paths with him.

Well, shit.

Loach sure did have a way of picking out his company, hm? A dead sister, deadbeat parents. Such was the way of this world it seemed. Although the idea of any of that plaguing him sure did place a weight upon him. He did not enjoy the idea of such a fate coming to any of his own. Death or waywardship.

Suppose that don't matter if they ain't 'ere either. He grumbled with a slow thump of his tail. Slowly he lowered himself down, practically a mirror image of the boy's own pose. So whatcha gonna do then? What's your plan for the rest of winter?

Claw's woeful tale didn't seem to phase the man outright, at least not in the sense where he expressed it so. The man didn't so much as flinch leaving the boy to wonder if such less-than-ideal conditions weren't something that uncommon, or sat lower on the totem pole than what this man may have experienced himself. He dared not ask, instead remained silent for but a moment as his newfound companion for the day settled himself in a likewise comfortable position that mirrored his own.

His plans for winter?

At this Claw couldn't help the lifting and falling of his shoulders in yet another shrug. His mother had the decency enough to leave Claw with enough verbal knowledge to know the harshness that came with the winter months, but he had no plans on how to survive it. That was her whole process to his upbringing he imagined. There were no shortcuts, no freebies. What he wanted he had to earn for himself, had to keep himself alive and in that aspect he just did it, gaining the experience necessary to tie into what knowledge she stowed upon him. This world was one where only the strongest survived and that was a lesson he learned very early on in the example of his sister's death.

"Dunno. Survive like I've been doing I guess." Another wolfish shrug of his shoulders. "Seem to be doing an okay job so far." Of course he wasn't in the most ideal conditions he assumed for someone his age, but considering the cards life handed him he wasn't entirely knocking on death's door.

He chuckled, found it was a sound that he hadn't been able to keep at bay.

Clearly the boy was not entirely a lost cause, but it seemed he might become one. Or he might become one of those feral things Loach had seemed a time or two. The kind he preferred to stay far from, in his own humble opinion.

An' did your mother ever tell ya 'bout more than surviving, cubbin'? You not interested in really living? But judgement was not found in his voice. Instead it was only curiosity. Maybe the boy did wish to be lost to the wilds, picking on already dead things and having nobody but himself.

A single ear cocked to the side hearing the small chuckle the man issued in response to his words. By no means was he offended by the sound, letting it roll off his shoulders like water down a duck's back as if it had never happened. To Claw, he would admit he enjoyed the freedom this life of just surviving offered him. There wasn't anyone around anymore to tell him what to do, leaving him free to roam where he wished; so long as the land was unclaimed, and just downright do whatever he wished frankly.

Alas, there was a part of him deep down that did miss the company of another since the day his mother left him to his own devices. Hence the enjoyment Claw was finding in this man's company for the time being. Apparently, it must have been an obvious thing written all over his face that this guy was able to pick up on, or so Claw thought, as the next question from his mouth seemed to mirror such thoughts.

Wasn't surviving the literal definition of living though?

"Isn't surviving living?" His age, lack of true family structure, and inexperience shone through at that moment as his question flitted off his lips, head tilting in genuine curiosity. What was this old man getting at? What more could there possibly be?

"And I'm no cubbin', the name is Claw." There was a thin-laced layer of humor to his statement, figuring now was probably a good time to offer up his name considering he hadn't done so in the beginning.

The boy was quick, but wise. For they shared their rough edges and found common ground in the notches left.

Aye, Claw. He rumbled and found the name befitting the loner child. Wild and rough, even if he seemed relatively good natured in it. Which was a wonder given his abandonment and sibling's deathly departure. Well...surviving is about getting through the day, ya see? Then living is looking forward to the days, yeah? His oranges eyes settled comfortably on the boy's face. Surviving is real good and important, but it's not the same as living your life.

He had no clue just how much the boy might take it to heart. For all he knew, Claw might write it off as the ramblings of an old man.

Despite his nonchalant attitude toward it Claw was in fact drinking in the words of wisdom that this man had to offer. Unlike his previous assumptions, there was indeed a fine line difference between surviving and living. Unfortunately for Claw, living was something the boy had yet to experience at his young age. All he knew was how to survive. Such the luck of a wayward child, huh?

"What about you, are you surviving, or are you living?" Claw was genuinely curious about the man's own situation, deciding the probing of questions should now shift to the opposite party. There was no mistaking the array of scents that lingered on his coat from other individuals, but it did beg the question considering the topic at hand. Were they surviving together, or living together?

"The others I smell on yer fur. What's the deal with them if you don't mind me asking?" They didn't smell of a pack, so what was their deal?

I'm living. I wake up and there's things I want to do, faces I want to see. And that was the extent of emotion he might expose to the boy. Sure, I still gotta make sure I'm survivin' but, it ain't the only think I'm thinkin' 'bout. His shoulders half-heartedly shrugged against his lounging position.

As for the others? Well, we're just a lil crew. Few of us helping each other out and enjoying the company that comes with it. Can't say for sure how they all feel but... Another shrug. Nonchalant. He figured there might come a day, when the weather warmed, that they all departed from him. That they'd go find better things than some aging, rough-edged fisher.

Ah, but the cubbin' had asked nothing about any of that.

It's why I ask if you got a crew or plans, Claw. Makes a world of difference, even to the hardiest.

The man must have been living the dream, or to an extent from the way he seemed to paint the picture for young Claw. It sure did raise a whole bunch of questions, but Claw would spare the man from having to answer such tedious things nor did he entirely owe Claw any answers of sorts. The young boy would do what he knew best and figure things out for himself as we went along the journey of life.

A piqued interest momentarily settled upon the Archer's facial features as he listened to his companion ramble on about the general workings of his little crew. In the long run, they were merely wayward souls much like himself that had gathered and benefited from one another. Contemplation then washed over Claw's features as his attention shifted from their conversation to the setting sun just beyond the horizon, the early rays of sunset beginning to paint the world below in an orange glow.

It was the next words his ears picked up on that drew his attention back.

The boy would never admit it, but there was a pang of loneliness he found wandering the world alone since his mother all but abandoned him. Claw never knew the true ache that came with being alone until that day. Yet, there was a certain tough guy exterior he felt he had to uphold, for his own sake.

Rising to his paws he gave his pelt a gentle shake, his stomach bearing a more comfortable weight now that some of the food nestled within had time to digest. He'd hate to just dine and dash on this old man, but there was plenty more wilderness to explore. With a low scoff, he spoke. "A crew may be good when times are tough, but I don't know if that's for me. At least not right now." He meant no offense to the choices made by this man and the others, but he didn't know if he could function in a group setting. Again, all he knew was the life of a loner and old habits died hard.