Blackfoot Forest a fog rolls in

Tonravik pursued, though did not yet know another was searching for her. The scent of blood became thick, and she could understand the preying of the crying foxes. But as the fog subsided for an instant and she noted the bodies—having just missed their executioner—she understood that the cries were one of mourning, anger, and hatred alike. Perhaps they would seek their revenge.

But the woman would not allow the meal to go to waste. While she was capable of the hunt, she was a lone wolf yet (having yet to return to Silvertip and establish Tartok once more, though she intended to) and would scavenge when she could to remain fully healthy. The crows sounded overhead, and she pulled a body near her with a foreleg, beginning to gorge without shame. One ear seems to cup backward, while the other shifts to the side, listening for the advance of any other as she licked fur from skin before tearing into the dead being that had been a sacrifice. Ah, and from that sacrifice, she would grow strong.