OOC: @Fox Following days after the encounter with Haunter and Tuwawi, but before the NSV event. Depending on the amount of responses, this thread MAY turn private.
Spring was meant to be a time of good fortune. A time of rebirth and beginnings to new things. It was a time of possibilities to prepare for the coming seasons and of course, a time for the coming of new life. And of course, it was a known time for game to be plentiful… that no predator would know the pangs of hunger. But in the infancy of the season, the literal bite of another’s starved state was what she came to know. Initially, the bite of the dark male of the Creek had been seen as little more than unfortunate scuffle. A crossing of paths while one was hungry; an unfortunate passing and nothing more. But to find the red lady of the Creek not soon after coveting the remnants of another predator’s kill (by their lands, no less!) led the concerned mind to assume that something was amiss in the Creek. And perhaps spring had not brought them the bounty she had assumed.
She was not presumptuous to think the Vale was wholly plentiful. As sure as the sun was to set in the eve, she was certain in time the fodder would flee from their borders to more nourished lands. But for the time, she perceive the rich forests were filled with more than beyond the mountain. At least enough to sustain its inhabitants until the need for much larger game became dire. And perhaps there would be enough flesh to share with their neighbors.
If only to discourage these unpleasant encounters from continuing.
Not long after the tan female made her silent decision, she made for the Creek by the afternoon with a cargo in tow. A fair-sized weasel hung by the neck from her jaws, adorned with but a single red flower found in the foods. As she had caught the animal by the blossoming bush, she believed its buds were of some significance; a sign perhaps from a greater power that she might find success if its likeness accompanied the kill. She carried such optimisms while heading to the borders, but reality kept her mindful of both her pace and proximity. Lest she be seen with the intent to invade and cause unrest, she slowed her purposeful match to a walk and allowed her body to slouch in an open, relaxed show. Slowing to a halt away from the scented markers, she placed both flower and prey down by her paws, then wet her maw before raising her voice in request for the pack’s lead. |