Blackfeather Woods Ours is a cycle of hatred

Her head snapped up as she saw the reddish wolf approach, abruptly quitting her play with Ramsay. She had seen him before; he had brought nourishment, and the basics of care. He had a smile for them, at least, and she gave him her best approximation of the expression back, black lips lifting in a grin.

Drool pooled in her mouth as she picked up the faint scent of meat. Leaving Ramsay's side, she padded over to the older boy and rose up on her haunches, poking at the corner of his mouth eagerly. Food? she asked silently, stomach gurgling with sudden hunger.