Otter Creek i'd rather you did not turn your skunk bath into a giant cocktail

slides in 

she was hungry. 

scratch that, she wasn’t hungry she was starving. her usual lean self had become nothing more than a pile of soft bones strung together through weakened flesh and fur. pathetic. what had become of her? she was a kementári, hunger was not supposed to be a word in her vocabulary. yet here she stood, the bones of her rib cage threatening to burst from her very side as she walked. mother would be disappointed. she had raised berúthiel to be more than a walking pile of scraps and still her daughter had failed. no, she had not withered away beyond repair. there was still time to rebuild what had been broken, she just needed time...and food.

speaking of food - the heavy stench of a rotting corpse filled the woman’s nostrils and she gratefully welcomed the foul odor with open arms. her gait quickened to an anxious trot, her heart barely able to keep up with the rough pace of her feet. as she descended upon the scene, berúthiel was met not just with potential food, but by some child who was playing with the head of a rather unfortunate soul and a stranger who appeared to be passing by. “hína” she called out to the boy, voice strained from the lack of use. “are you going to eat that?” she asked with a low rumble, not bothering to wait for an answer while she closed the distance between herself and the youth.