By now, the others would have noticed Candle's more neurotic tendencies. It was difficult to miss. Occasionally she would seemingly get stuck — always on some repetitive motion or pointless action, like rearranging the positions of the stems on a plant. Though she never seemed to be enjoying herself, Candle would fixate on these things for long periods of time, only stopping if she was interrupted.
Just now she was chasing her tail. Candle was anxious; agitated. Every so often she would snap at it as if she might truly hurt herself. But she hadn't yet.
Dark woman was perhaps the only one of her kind, which often made her feel like an outcast until Tribe came to her life. There she was, just then, her pelt growing hot with the desert heat as yet another rabbit - perhaps she especially had a knack for catching hare - dangled from her jaws as she went to put it with the other prey she'd stashed away. When there was enough, she would disclose the location.
More importantly, the shadow came to a flickering flame after that. Is Candle-kin well?
her question was genuine, though her wording may not be taken so. She tried again.
Is... Candle-kin... worried?
the wind and the earth would not pluck any particular scent off the coyote and give it to Kusuma.
Candle found herself interrupted. She stopped abruptly with a brief, low growl, but she was grateful for Kusuma's intervention. Her ears fell and she whined apologetically for her outburst, creeping closer to nose under the woman's chin if she allowed it. Even if she could speak, Candle would not have been able to tell Kusuma what afflicted her, because she hardly knew herself. All she knew was that being with the others made it better.
She tried to convey this now, her tail swinging somewhat hesitantly. She reached out with one paw to tap the rabbit dangling from Kusuma's jaws. It swayed. Candle giggled softly, immediately distracted and thoroughly entertained by the motion of it.