Ouroboros Spine Under the bludgeonings of chance

Tonravik, however, was utterly feral.

Her own instinct had taken control, driving her to dig and dig and dig. Dirt flung behind and around her, though it missed the pacing Salamander. Her claw felt wood, there, no doubt a deep root to some tree here. A low snarl as she realized that she had lost this thing. She moved to wedge her muzzle into the earth, but the spot was still too narrow, and impossible to make larger. Tonravik removed her snout from the earth, blinking solemnly at the spot, and paced herself for a moment in front of it.

But the rabbit was lost to the both of them. By now, it was moving in the halls of its newfound burrow, and Tonravik snorted dirt from her nose. No matter. Tonravik would hunt and succeed, and if it was not this night, it would certainly be tomorrow when they hunted as a pack.

She moved away from the spot, throwing back one last cursory look, but when it did not spring forth into the open Tonravik decided to move on. The air was saturated with the scent of tomorrows meal, and she stalked toward it, looking briefly to Salamander. Their impromptu chase had led them all the closer.