Silvertip Mountain Empty handed

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June trotted up one of many towpaths, her white fur ablaze under a warm mid-morning sun. There was a skip in her step that had been absent the last few days, because hanging from her slavering lips was the carcass of an unimpressive mouse. It was nothing substantial, but for the once-pampered Silvertip adolescent, it was a catch worthy of pride. Her tail beat back and forth at half-mast as she ascended, seeking the company of the pack wolves while she stuffed her face with her meager meal, and not even realizing that to eat in front of them was rude. Yet another childhood lesson June had yet to grasp.

As she levelled out on a flat shelf and paused to catch her breath, she realized she was near to Zaria's den and the pack's temporary gathering place. Knowing that FitzDutiful wouldn't be there caused her heart to skip a sad beat, and June made to pass it by until she caught sight of the muddy brown coat of her Alpha female. Her steps faltered as she weighed her options, chief among them the right of the Alpha to her meal. Had she not spotted the butterbull nestled at Zaria's side, June might've selfishly carried on, absolving herself of guilt by forcing herself to believe that the Alpha had not stopped to think of anyone else when she emptied every cache in the pack for her brood, but June was not capable of blaming others or disregarding them, and Zaria deserved better than her hungry selfishness. Instead, she sighed around the rodent and made her way toward her father's widow.

Once there, she lightly whined, dropped the mouse and glanced away. Her stomach rumbled in protest, but June knew FitzDutiful would want this, and the wellbeing of the pups was more important, anyway.