Hideaway Strath the prank was murder

The storm that beats the coast has not touched the strath in the same way. Some days have offered rain, a little gloomy, but for the most part they are far enough inland that they barely had a drizzle. The day is a tease where half the sky is bright and sunny and the other dark and threatening. Rain has not touched the ground, giving her motive for leaving the den and exploring a little more now that her legs have graduated to wandering. Having seen the borders and where her father had taken her brother, she’s curious to know what else the rest of the pack has to offer. 

Her attention is cut short when she stumbles over a large stick. She hadn’t noticed it upon approach but as she tangles up in it, hitting the ground at least once, she instantly latches her sharp teeth around the tip closest to her. Temporarily forgetting about her exploration, several yards away from the den, she’s nestled the other end of the stick between clumsy paws as she begins to destroy her prize.