Hushed Willows Hunger turns even the kindest of hearts

Sleeping had become a rare thing for the stressed out trick of a man, for the longer the famine controlled him-controlled them, the more food he had to give up to keep his good guy image. The joining of others had not gone over his head, and he did not like how Tavi would let in these muts and their family in these desperate times. Perhaps he didn't like her at all. She was not a leader like Warbone, and- after all-, Trick had "sworn" loyalty only to him. NOT to the female that would bear a stinking child for the brute. Soon though, he knew, he would take over. He was a hundred percent certain of it.

What had also not gone over his head was the weak looking thing once known as Kunik throughout the famine. She hadn't looked in good shape at all, which Trick kind of liked watching. His hopes were for her to die of starvation, so that he didn't have to kill her himself once her doubt of him became so great that she would reveal his secrets. It was better to have her gone- forever.

Trick watched the opening of The Keep closely as the starry night sky turned a Teagan orange and a flowery soft pink with golden clouds to match. It was always a sight, the morning sky, but dusk would forever remain his favorite time of day. Yet something was wrong. The weak frame of Kunik appeared, swaggering slowly out of The Keep. Trick frowned. What the hell was she going to do? Moments passed with him still laying there until Stark also got up and left the safe place that was The Keep. Okay, he desperately wanted to know what was going on now.

With this in mind, Trick also left the sleeping place of the Marauders, following both Stark's and Kunik's scent. His tummy rumbled, but his petite paws were made for sneaking. No one would see the shadow that was him, nor hear him. The sight of death, the smell of death, came closer as he now saw what was going on. For a moment he wondered if Stark had killed Kunik, but no blood could be smelled, nor did he found the other dark male not able to control his rage. He approached the dead carcass of his enemy with a slight smirk. Perfect. The one and only who doubted him lay now dead at his feet. A warrior, she had called herself, but this just showed her frame was not made for fighting-not even the famine- just like Trick had thought in the beginning.

Stark? He asked, joining the male's flank, looking down on the small Kunkun. What are we supposed to do with the body? He did not show sympathy, for even an act she didn't deserve-not even dead.