The itch was stifling. It burned at him at an increasingly alarming rate, yet there was little he was able to do about it. The issue was in the inability to find a victim; most simply diverted their path when seeing him walk their way, and while only mildly annoying at first, soon became tedious and rather inconvenient. He made a point not to pursue kills in the radius of established packs, which also came as a burden to him when in nearly every direction he turned, there one was. Vaati knew he would need to provide a solution soon, unable to tell what the consequence would be for neglecting the innate need he felt. The only time he had done so, he had been running for his life, and it wasn’t like he was letting that happen again.

Instead, he hunted. Constantly. He hunted when he wasn’t hungry, saving away the kill in caches throughout the flatlands. Vaati did not anticipate needing it again, but he figured it would be more than suspicious for the surrounding inhabitants to suddenly come upon large pieces of prey simply abandoned in numbers. In his jaws he currently gripped the leg of a yearling doe; it had been small for its age and too easy to take down, and its colourful ichor stained brightly against his washed-out pelt. If any loner was looking to steal it, it would be no loss to him but rather, a reason to further satisfy his need to kill. @Grezig

Grezig had made her way up the side of another mountain and down into a valley the day before. Now, on the morning of the second day, she stood on the opposite ridge, looking down into the valley, back towards Mount Apikuni, intending to go back. She did not ever go farther than a day or two from the place where the group was settled at the time. This was probably the farthest she had ever traveled from them, and it made her anxious. Besides, she did not want to continue standing on this ridge. Her paws kept slipping and her legs were stiff with the effort of holding herself up. This ridge had no footholds and no vegetation to help with traction.

She began slipping and sliding her way back down into the valley, but turned sharply at the smell of blood. It was animal blood, not wolf blood, but it still alarmed her. She forced herself farther upwards onto the ridge, wincing as the rock bit into her paw pads, and saw a white wolf approaching with a deer leg in its mouth. Well, that explained the blood. As a courtesy, she chuffed at the wolf, waiting to see if he would want a conversation or not. Some wolves were incredibly food-territorial (like she was) and she didn’t want to stick around if he was going to be growling at her just for looking at the leg. She did not want it, but he wouldn’t know that.

It doesn’t take long for another to arrive, and he observes her amusedly, nodding back his own greeting. The brief consideration of conversation is one he isn’t particularly fond of, he doesn’t like idle conversation and finds it tedious. But the opportunity to gather some entertainment by it is not one he is opposed to, and he drops the leg, the gleam of bloodstained teeth flashing beneath his jowls. “If you come too close I might eat you too,” He jokes, of course, but it’s not like he wears the right facial expression to go long with the humour. In fact, his muzzle is coated with the blood of the animal that helps add to the whole psycho-killer look, though his eyes don’t hold the crazed madness within them that would trigger a warning alarm to the other.

He tosses the leg just under half the distance between them, taunting her with both the delicious reward and the possible unfortunate truth in his jest. Perhaps she would take it, perhaps not. He has encountered both types of wolves on the borders of Blackfeather Woods, and he finds there is not a set character to who flees and who decides to take the chance. Maybe he is undecided himself, and has not figured out whether or not he will abandon the leg in exchange for a bigger prize. It is all circumstantial, and he ponders these things as he waits to see what she will do.

Grezig was silent as the male dropped the deer leg at his paws and uttered what she could only guess what a thinly veiled threat—or a bad attempt at humor. “I have no intention of coming any closer,” she assured the male. “I was just leaving.” Right as she was about to turn around, though, he picked his food up again… and tossed it at her. She stopped, turned and looked at it, and then up at him.

The piece of meat sat between them like a child caught between two fighting parents. After a pregnant pause, she raised one eyebrow and asked flatly, “Do you take me for a fool?”

His maw held the slightest trace of a frown, having expected her to take the bait. Perhaps she was smarter than most in her decision to not take the chance, but her following hesitance to leave the scene entirely indicated otherwise to him. “Not a fool… a coward perhaps,” The quirk of his brow in itself was a challenge designed to threaten her ego. She did not seem the type to be pushed around, reminding him of a few other women he could name in that sense. She could not be convinced to going against her own interests, but to change what those interests were was another thing.

The male frowned, a tight downward turn of the mouth. And then he called her a coward. A coward? For what? For not trying to steal his food? No. That was not cowardly. She was not going to get into a pointless fight over a piece of meat she didn’t need. He could have his food. If he wanted a fight, he’d have to look elsewhere.

“We are done here,” she said, turning away—but she kept her muscles taut, kept one eye turned to watch him. He seemed the type to attack while her back was turned and she would not be caught unawares.

[Exit unless stopped]