Bramblepoint The hunger revealing

They set off quick, her paws burned at the haste, cracked on mountain rock and rubbed on frozen ground. Land covered through long days of walking, their most recent pitstop; this forest and the meadow beyond it. She laid on her side beneath a tall, bald tree, leafless branches reaching for the sky, while @Lorcan hunted. She propped a paw to the side so she could watch the small trail of crimson slide down the grooves, stain the white fur the tufted between each digit. She could fix it. could.

She'd heard a familiar howl in the distance, ringing from mountains draped in cloud-fog, she perked up, hoping that it was an announcement that he would follow. She hoped he would come for her, selfishly.

She was nothing but selfish. A devourer of all things; urchin with no conscience, fighting and clinging to every sweet promise. With Lorcan, she felt that she could embrace that parasite that cracked her mind and yet... She could not shake the pit in her chest that felt an awful guilt. She howled out, this rather pathetic, squirrely and unmistakeable melody, it ripped through the air and hopefully it would've called him to her path.

If not, it would tell Lorcan to hurry his ass up with her goddamn food. Letting out a sigh, she laid her head back onto the ground and tucked her tail in close to conserve the warmth she had, reptile that she was; scrawny and cold were a miserable combination.

Eyes fell idly back to her paw and the pretty picture it drew for her. She was hungry.

he’s crouched low near a half-frozen creek, a hare snared in his jaws. the kill came quick enough. still, envy’s call rings in his ears, and he rises, shaking out his coat as he slings the carcass to.

always in a hurry, he mutters beneath his breath. he's off with the flick of his tail; he picks up speed, heading back toward the tree line where he left her.

and he finds her sprawled beneath a tall, leafless sentinel, the ground around her dusted in a thin layer of snow. the sight of her paw, stained crimson against the white, makes his brow tighten briefly. he doesn’t comment, not yet. instead, he drops the hare at her feet, letting its limp body thud against the frozen ground.

look at you, he chuffs with a smirk toying upon a roguishly handsome face. there’s something like concern in the set of his jaw as he notes her ragged breathing, the subtle tremor in her limbs. still, he manages a faint scoff. c'mon. he huffs out, reaching a nose down to ruffle through her light fur.

Where are we even going? She questions with her natural abrasiveness, a slight crook of her head as she looked up from her position, unroused by his attempt.

She wasn't mad at him, per say, but she was irritable; credit the cold and the quiet and every other thing that was making her mind descend into overdrive. It was a weird, light feeling, made her shake, or maybe that was just the shivering. Who knew! Not her!

Instead, she kicked her legs out from under herself, committed to the ground, now. Crooked tail thumped once and then twice before laying still against the snow. She wheeled around like a snake to snatch at the hare he'd dropped and dragged it closer, keeping it defensively at her base of her paws and wasting no time greedily acquanting the meat with her teeth.

..How much longer are we staying here? The wretch pouted, missing a den now more than ever.

lorcan is unmoved by the bite in her words, the way she hoards the hare like a sulking child. his ears flick at her question, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. instead, he exhales a low huff, a faint show of exasperation.

i don’t know, he admits, his tone clipped yet not unkind. if she thinks he has all the answers, she’s mistaken. the cold’s got his mind just as muddled as hers—only, he’s learned how to hide it better.

rather than snapping at her, he lowers himself into the snow beside her. the chill seeps through his belly, but he ignores it. his paw settles over hers—over the carcass, really—but gently, not prying it from her grip. then he lifts his muzzle, brushing against her chin if she lets him.

patience, envy, he murmurs, voice softening and breath warm upon her. we’ll find a place. somewhere out of this damn cold.

Patience was a virtue and there was nothing virtuous about her, from birth she had the title of deadly sin, she had no room for the sweet, dainty little attributes bestowed by the heavens. Hadn't been taught em'. She let his muzzle raise her head, dark-tipped ears splaying to the sides.

But.... She couldn't exactly do anything about it. Cruelly, the world withheld choice, forced them to go until they found something.. somewhere, worthwhile. Problem was, he was probably used to this sort of thing, mercenary, killer by trade n' all.

She wasn't. She was a poor traveller. She was used to small worlds, desertion a punishable offense, every step gained on the ladder a matter of cunning and real, tangible skill; the blanket of power and protection. How strange it was, to abandon everything you knew. Times like these she felt like a child, ill-adapted to the world she was given.

She was daunted by the sheer breadth of everything beyond the borders of packs and yet all the same, unimpressed by it. Freedom in excess was just..

Overwhelming.

She chose boring. Wretch needed structure and purpose. The wind's picking up. She grumbles as she lets out a sigh and picks at the hare, at least its blood was warm on her tongue. What have you found, around here?

He had been looking, following the scents on the breeze when she rested. She appreciated it, though she wouldn't say it in words.

lorcan savors the moment, the feel of her head resting against his own, the fleeting warmth shared between them like a fragile ember in the cold. a hum rumbles from his throat is low as his neck tilts and his teeth graze the fur at the back of her neck. it’s a gesture that’s uncharacteristically gentle for him, more grooming than anything else, a small act of quiet care.

there’s a densite not far from here, he murmurs through fur as his teeth continue their soft work. tucked by a grove of trees. empty. safe enough. he pauses; focus still on her.

his gaze shifts briefly to the hare she’s picking apart, the faintest flicker of satisfaction crossing his face at seeing her eat. finish that, and we’ll head there, he says. weather’s turning ugly. need to be off this ground before it gets worse.

patience, he tells himself. he’s not good at it, but he can manage. for her, maybe. or maybe just because he doesn’t want to see her fall apart before they’ve even found a place to settle. not that he’d admit it, not even to himself.

His teeth grazed her neck but this time she held still; she would not be haunted by it. What was there to be haunted by? Envy had seen the death, exquisite as it was well— desperate and sad.

She focused instead on the taste of the rabbit as she finished it, not a drop of feminine elegance spared to the task, she ate with a quickness, eager to move somewhere with more cover. The food did a little to revitalize her, bettering her mood in what seemed like an almost manual flip of a switch.

She rose with a bounce to her step, and trotted a circle around him, prompting him up with a bump of her muzzle against his shoulder. Well let's go then— up y'get.

envy, with her quick, ravenous energy, was a contradiction he never quite tired of.

her sudden shift in mood draws a faint huff of amusement from him, the sound low and gravelly. she’s bouncing now, a stark contrast to the tension she carried before, and he doesn’t resist when she bumps her muzzle against his shoulder. his lips twitch upward in the barest hint of a smirk as he rises to his paws, shaking the snow from his pelt with a deliberate, languid motion.

eager now, are we? he drawls, his tone light but laced with a teasing edge as he starts forward, casting her a sidelong glance. her energy is infectious, though he’d never admit it aloud. the snow crunches beneath his paws as he sets the pace, his long stride cutting through the glen with practiced ease.

this way, he murmurs, the command subtle but clear, his voice steady against the rustle of the wind. the thought of finding better cover appeals to him as much as it does to her.

She followed after him on quick feet that matched his own, even when her stride was all that much shorter; winter frost kissed the cuts on her pawpads, no longer a sting and now just a numb, cold tingle. The prospect of proper warmth all too enticing to keep her from puttin' em' to work again.

When they did arrive, she took a quick surveil of the area, head crooked to the side like it was reflex while she investigated. Stopping at the cusp of a small shelter, her tail would give a satisfactory flick. Here for the night, then we'll go again in the mornin'.

She drew herself into a curled position, making sure room was left over.