The Heartwood from which of this oak

Her unfamiliarity with her surroundings coupled with the noise of the fauna around here and the fact that she was upwind of the hunting wolf left her oblivious to the fact that she was being stalked. Her father, his soul looking down upon her from the stars above, would have been roaring with outrage at his daughter's carelessness. It was something she should have noticed, should have seen or smelled, or felt simply by instinct. She had been trained relentlessly, schooled in the ways of war, battle, and self-preservation. To be hunted by one of her own kind without her even noticing would be the height of shame.

But she continued on, unaware of the beast that lurked in the shadows behind her, calculating the most efficient way to kill her. A fat deerfly buzzed past her and she snapped at it, instantly ending the insect's existence, her hunger driving her to eat anything she could get her teeth into regardless of how badly it might taste. And the fly did taste bad. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head, her tongue running in and out between her teeth repeatedly as she worked to get the bitter taste out of her mouth. It hadn't been worth the hassle or the crappy aftertaste; it wasn't even a speck of a mouthful anyway, she thought as she continued on her way, her mood a shade darker than it had been moments before.