Even in the silence of the ever vigilant keepers, Sakasu enjoys the pleasure of the landscape beyond them. He had proven mostly illusive to the frustration of the invading force, where some of his own were subjugated utterly, the fox simply tisked from above their cages, mocked the few that dare before he slipped back into the caves, the tree's the shrubbery that hid him like it's own. It went on without fare, and as the nights gotten colder the kitsune stood vigil along the edge's of camp where many took refuge. A fire snapping and twisting from the camp, allowed if only to keep the smaller member's from simply freeing to death.

Sakasu was allowed, if nothing else: he brought fresh game. Three hares hung from twisted legs as he dropped them along the pile of shrews. Paint throughout the day had run it's course and flaked mostly off, leaving a mostly unblemished white that flashed in the fire. While the grin along his maw was something most would withdraw from: a look that promises danger and battle. A careful indulgence to the darker sides that even his few clanmates ignore- it was what the Kitsune held in his maw that would bright anyone closer.

Mashmellows.

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