Bearclaw Valley [M] All Wrong

m for mentions of violence

Warm rays of sunlight occasionally crept through the stifling blanket of clouds; ever-shifting. Not quite so gentle as the soft embrace of another's fur, though it sufficed to offer some solace to the aching limbs of the wretched little maiden. 

Ungrateful still, she'd grumble her displeasure to the empty air. 

She'd caught the scent of other canines in this area, here and there, distant and close, and a reckless part of her had sought it out, no weight offered to the consequence of trespass. It was time to seek a new home. She knew she wouldn't get by much longer, the outline of ribs beneath scrappy silver fur spoke for itself. At the very least, she had skills to offer.

Lain on a small rocky outcropping, she'd allow pale forelimbs to drape over the ledge whilst her chin lay cradled by the harshness of the cold stone. Alone. She was not meant to be. Not built to be. Her mind idled with all the words she longed to pester another's ears with, though they remained unspoken, an eerie silence in their place; beyond the idle thumping of her tail against the rock. At the foot of her claim, she'd keep her maple-touched gaze affixed to the crumpled form of a newborn fawn; one she'd snatched from the grasp of a grazing mother. She was unsure if the tired beast even knew her labours were for nothing; for when she'd come to see her infant tucked away in the bracken, she'll find naught but a trail of crimson and receding imprints in the ground.

Serves it right. A good mother cares for her young. A good mother wouldn't turn her back. 

She'd stare into the ever-fading gaze of the fawn, not yet departed, but certainly on its way. Envy remained poised and eager to see how long it'd cling to survival. She'd left it with injuries of a terrible nature, its inability to fight back only motivating her to further mangle and maul; she'd lacked the knowledge of efficiency, and in its place grew sheer viciousness, anything grasped in pale jaws was simply ravaged, desperately clung onto, yet these wounds... They were more than the results of a lucky hunt, they were methodical; meant to leave room for suffering.

How long would it last? How long would a wolf last with such injuries? Was it possible to reverse such damage? She couldn't know unless she saw. She couldn't be sated unless she witnessed it. She was almost giddy over the prospects. She'd stare at the inflictions of her violence, and yearn to stitch the little thing up and do it all again; though she lacked the supplies in her current state. To simply watch would suffice, for now. Here, with no authority to chastise, her curiosities ran unchecked. If only such freedoms hadn't come with the cost of stable food and company. 

This one was all wrong. She knew it, but did not understand it; for what was she, but passionate? Regardless of the disconnect, she knew at least that she'd need to reign herself in.

Soon, nothing remained of her earlier quarry but a husk; and she'd slip from her perch down to enjoy her meal; satisfaction painted across her features.