Neverwinter Forest bladerunner

@Phaedra

Coming into the thick of a vast woodlot, July continued to track the steadily warming trail of a fox. He didn't truly have a taste for other predators, but he was feeling less than picky at the moment and the fox's scent was the first one he'd come across that he thought might be easy prey— and more filling than a rodent, which was his other option. Spotting the autumn-backed creature at last, he noticed that the fox was on a hunt of its own. He couldn't tell what it was stalking, but the vulpes was so effectively distracted that what he had assumed would be a mild endeavor turned out to be one of the easiest hunts July had ever undertaken.

There was hardly a chase, and biting down on the back of the red-fox's neck dispatched it quicker than the little creature could know what was happening to it. July's quarry hung limply from jaws now lipsticked with blood, and after checking to make sure he was alone, he hunkered down to feast upon his sinewy catch.

Current Weather: ​?
48-32°F

Thunder rolls in the vast expanse of the skies above and though Phaedra is tucked beneath the protective arms of the conifers overhead, she still feels her hackles raise when the sky goes bright with the telltale crr-rackk!! of lightning.

She does not remember being struck of course, or anything before the event for that matter, but she understands the fallout and it is enough to keep her secure and at bay from any open expanse.  The ghost traces the weathered silhouette of the weathered sentinels that shield her from the onslaught of rain, and as the scent of meat breaks through the stench of pine her stomach twists and knots.

She is hungry.  Phaedra had not looked at herself in some time but she could feel her skin stretch when she moved over her ribs and hips.  Her thoughts cast back to the raven she'd destroyed, still covered in its blood and feathers, and wistfully she wished she would have eaten some of the meat.

But wishes get us nowhere in life, so instead her little legs carried her towards where the scent was coming from and much to her dismay there was someone there already, making his claim whether he had killed the thing or not.  The volatile girl's head lowers to the ground as something forms in her throat, a growling-whine that nearly reeks of desperation.

Feed me, share with me.

As only a large ego would allow, July ate carelessly. He held little to no regard for his surroundings, and afforded the luxury with barefaced arrogance. The virile yearling toted with him a few of the scars such an irresponsibility could often dictate, but since he had yet to meet his match in a fight he subsequently felt no need for caution. Without mind, he cracked bones and snarked down marrow— making the typical racket of a gorging beast— and he remained completely unaware of his company until she sought to draw attention to herself.

The wolf reacted with only mild alarm; his grey hackles bristling and his head snapping in her direction, mouth thick with red. Offering only the most cursory of glances, what he spied was a pale mixed breed, small and stretched thin by neglect. He should have been concerned about the desperation that came with such bony creatures, but July's only thought was that he could overpower her if he needed to, which resulted in him making no motion to rise or otherwise accost the ghostly intruder. Instead, July postured defensively— selfish by instinct— and initially he made a low rumbling noise of dissent to her request.

His stormy eyes rolled away, treating her presence as more of a nuisance than an actual threat, and he dug back into his fox with renewed fervor. The young male's choice not to chase her away unintentionally came off as an invitation to be more persistent.

he shifts in front of her, becoming bigger as his hackles raise in alarm, but he makes no move to punish her for being so close to his kill.  instead a rumble pours from his redstained maw as his posture solidifies, statuesque.

she yawns, diffusing some of the pent-up stress that if the other had any more situational awareness would be nearly palpable in the air between them.  

and then she moves closer, slowly at first, entering further into the brute's personal bubble, before striking quick at the carcass in an effort to steal a mouthful and bolt away, to the edge of the clearing.

if she could just be quick enough.