Redhawk Caldera Skull

"HIC—!" she erupted loudly, unintentionally. It felt like her legs were attempting to move through molasses, or tripwire; her attempts at a smooth getaway weren't going very well for the yearling. Truth be told, she had never been drunk before, and in the morning she would severely regret ever trying it. Magpie had only heard stories of fermented berries, how wolves and other creatures would sometimes use them to forget their sorrows. What she didn't hear was how stupid it made you, particularly if you did feel sorrow already.

"'M fine," she whimpered. "Sorr—hic!" she attempted to excuse herself, but her traitor legs kept getting tangled amongst themselves and in the terrain. Magpie finally sat, defeated. She gazed at Peregrine, her eyes sweeping back and forth as she attempted to focus on his face— but her entire world was spinning. She didn't even know what to say at this point, doubtful she could convince herself (let alone her alpha) that she was fine, but not wanting to lay her heart bare to him either.