Blackfeather Woods Black or White, no Gray

Food was a nigh present thought in her mind, as it was one everyone else's. Had it simply been a normal famine, she would have found herbs that could easily fill the stomach and relieve the pains of hunger, but this was more than that. The plant life was nonexistent; those plants that were starting to grow back too small and too young for use. It was worse than if the clock had dialed all the way back to the start of winter. Potema's frame had already sunken in, her thick half Arctic pelt all that was hiding her skeletal frame.

She lurked in the tunnels, constantly sifting through the herbstore, trying her hardest to preserve what remained of the herbs. They were rotting out of disuse rather than her tearing through the stores. It sickened her to see her stores diminish everyday with no good reason. Potema snorted as she removed another crinkled leaf. She barely heard her brother over her swarming thoughts.