Bearclaw Valley her perfume crucified me with memories

stigmata prowled about the valley fringes, inuring himself into bearclaw's fold without necessarily being social. privately, he wanted to be accepted, but more than this he wanted to be respected -- feared, even, if that's what it took. but in an effort to purge himself of such grievous wants, he kept to the outskirts and let others approach him. it hadn't happened yet; everyone here seemed preoccupied with children or something he was just as disinterested in, but stigmata was not a fickle creature and he would remain until it became a detriment to his health to do so.

but keeping to the periphery of everyone had an unintended side effect that left him feeling underappreciated. so in looking for some recognition, stigmata spent the hour or so before dawn, when the smart grazers rise, sweeping the woods for fresh prey. he managed to turn up a weasel turning in for sunrise, and he dispatched the long-bodied vermin with a dispassionate bite to the spine -- but not before it had managed to offensively bloody his muzzle with a few smarting scratches.

he brought his catch directly to indra's den, as he felt most familiar with her and thought he would best appreciate some acknowledgement from her. weasels weren't typical game, but he hoped she, nor her brood, would be picky on the matter. he deposited the gift a few tail-lengths from her doorstep, and stood back so that he might be observed in the act before dismissing himself for a well-earned nap.

potentially a cameo: just so it looks like he's been doing pack stuff :p