Emberwood signing off, i'm alright in bed but i'm better with a pen

he's chasing a fox when the scent of pack drifts his direction, and he slows instinctively. he realizes a moment later he's botched his own hunt, so he halts entirely, expelling air harshly through his nose. it's likely for the best, but he can't help feeling a little sour as he turns to trudge in the opposite direction. independence is fun and all, but sometimes he wishes just one thing could be easy.
it's a little too much to ask, apparently. whatever. he likes his freedom, so he doesn't complain too much — out loud, at least. mostly because he doesn't actually have anyone to complain to, but, irrelevant little details.

she had drifted along the stone teeth of mountains raking the air in a long ridge; she had left both tindome and bearclaw behind for the present, and become mayfair unto herself. and yes; these places familiar, for had she not traveled them a great deal in times past? with her usual churlish disregard for her own wellbeing, the scarletfurred girl caught the scent of fox, and followed it delightedly, remembering what tadec had said of them.
the trail did not lead her to a fox, but to a man, clothed in rich hues reminiscent of baklava and turkish coffee; mona was smitten completely by the elegant blending of his very pelt, and stopped dead in her tracks, a slight and transfixed cardinal.