Blackfeather Woods never seem to find the time

She didn't outright attack, instead only hurling further indignant demands in his direction — it only served to fuel Redshank's foolish confidence. She seemed young. Perhaps an aspiring border guard, eager to prove that she was able to take on intruders by herself. His pace hastened ever so slightly, deep down knowing he was pushing his luck the more he ignored the girl.

The name Blackfeather didn't stir any recognition, they were simply a pack that had ample stores (or so he believed) that would satisfy his hunger. It was a well marked place, surely they were a large enough pack that they would not miss a few missing pieces of their caches.

The pack member was quick to catch up with him and began to nip and bite at his hindquarters like an aggravated pest. One such bite caught him on the sensitive area of his ankle, and Redshank spun with a snarl, eyes flaring but he didn't retaliate. Not yet. Instead, he stared, locking back onto the disfiguring wound upon her face, before trailing to her forepaw that seemed to grotesquely curl in on itself. Was this why she sought to stop him with words alone?

"I will leave," he said at length. "After." And with that, he made to turn and continue to bullheadedly follow the trail.