Bearclaw Valley it's darker now at this hour than it was last week

The darkspawn grows by the day.
She has never been here before, nor has she ever been this far from mother, from her siblings. She does not know where she is; some part of her feels as if she should.
The murder goes where she does, and they peck at the jawbone of a fox. It is picked clean; unnervingly so; and it is missing more than a few teeth. One of the corvids points its smouldering gaze toward her. For the first time in her life, Athalia reaches out to touch one.
She blinks, and rather than anticipated feathersoft beneath her paw, she feels the cold, textured surface of ivory. The bone; unliving. She stares as it as if she is expecting something.
How old was this creature? How long ago had it perished?
Athalia's head lowers until her front half slams into the earth, and she feels the teeth against her shoulders, her back. It smells of her now. Her paws lift up skyward before she rolls back onto her side, and she pulls the bone into her clutch, pressing it to her chest. A soft rumble pours from between her lips.
Mine.