Blacktail Deer Plateau cake by the ocean

@Merrigan

Kitsch had taken to leaving the confines of the forest daily – after all, how would her family’s sentries find her if she was cooped up in another pack’s territory? Every other day she would set out in a new direction and search for signs of a possible man hunt; any familiar smells, tracks, literally anything to give her a sense of hope and a trail to follow – but Kitsch wasn’t a very good tracker [she really wasn’t adept at anything] and every time she returned to Ravensblood Forest disappointed, so she would visit the caches and drag something back to her den for her to gnaw out her anxieties.

This freedom from her past starvation also gave Kitsch the liberty to see after other important matters, such as preening her downy pelt with precise and fine movements of her teeth and tongue. Sleeping lazily about the forest also ranked highly on her list nowadays and Kitsch did just that, since it was what pleased her. Now Kitsch did whatever pleased her for now Kitsch had no court to advise her and no guards to protect her, both of whom had always treated her not unlike some political plaything, to be pampered and coddled and controlled, for her entire life up until now. But here she was, alone; here she was free to do anything she wanted. 

So Kitsch sat amongst the trees of this new and strange forest, entertaining herself by picking small spring flowers and tucking them amongst her pale plumage; decorating herself as a means of distraction.