Bramblepoint two hundred miles through the deepest dark forest

Scarcely moments further into his bound, a voice called out. It isn't enough to immediately halt the rangy coyote and his actions, but such does so not even a couple more pounces further. His eyes scan around him curiously in wonder of whom had called after him, but he saw nothing rushing towards him. Not a wolf, not a coyote, not even some hulking beast from beyond to come and give him chase. It would not have surprised him if such a thing happened; it had happened before, no doubt would happen again.

And then, movement. A dark shape slinking along like some big cat on the prowl through the mismatched foliage. It captured his attention swiftly but is soon discredited when he realizes that it nothing more than a small feline, and Rickshaw turned to fully face it. So small, like he, and yet very unlike him at all. He waited for the cat's features to become distinct to him, to see those dark whiskers that fanned out ornately from its little face.

He sprang forward again, jaws open with glee, and wondered if he would get the jump on it. There were no thoughts of whether or not it was alone, or if its parents were nearby. No, the coyote had found himself a kitten to play. Too bad for its parents, he thought, perhaps they had abandoned it.