Flycatcher Downs Ring ring, the bartender please?

So this is what it was like to be fully alone, hm. No living, breathing soul within distance; not even a tree to keep one company in the great beyond. It was quite sad really, come to think of it.

With a dismissive snort, the tawny figure strode across the moorland, her eyes dulled and her bottlebrush tail dragging aimlessly along in the dirt. "Shit." The curse was sharp, but not unusual, as her paws slid out from beneath her battered frame and she came tumbling to a halt, her breath a raspy mess as she lay panting on the ground. This time she didn't even bother to try and right herself. Usually it would take only a couple of minutes to find the strength and the willpower to manoeuvre her limbs, but now? Fuck it. Half starved and miserable, the wench let her muzzle fall to the dust with a dull hmph, her body quite keen on giving up there and then.