Fox's Glade A Soft Place to Land

For @Leta, and @Arlette if you want in~
I'm sorry if the quality drops a bit towards the end there, I'm about to head to bed XD

A burgundy nose snuffled half-heartedly at the snow between two large paws, white enough that they all but merged into the snow beneath them, followed by a starving sigh and a shiver from the tall form as a gale attacked his face. The ice that nipped at the pink of his paws and the frosting wind that chilled his well-wintered pelt was not unusual to Finnick; he had lived in the forever-snowed mountains of Skyguard all his life, after all, but the hunger... The hunger tore at his stomach like carrion crows to a carcass. It seemed as if every step he took was met with a protesting gurgle, a bubbling broth of bile that gnawed desperately at the walls of his stomach as if threatening to claw its way out of him and find food for itself.

"I'm sorry," the young he-wolf whimpered to nobody. It was a habit of his, this apologising; he couldn't help that he was hungry, and he doubted his stomach would pay heed to his sorries anyway, but as always the words stalked readily on the tip of his tongue, ready to pounce the moment his lips had parted.

If only he knew how to hunt...

The ever-present depication that festered his mind spoke, "Look at you, you're useless, Finnick."
Part of him argued back: "It's not your fault."
"Yes it is," the opposing side of his mind returned, "You're the one who can't hunt."

The male shook his head, soft features batting away flakes of snow in hopes that the voices would quiet. It seemed to work, at least for now, and the starving youth resumed his snow-trudging and ground-sniffing.

It had seemed like eons before, upon a sleeping aspen, something other than snow, excrement, or wolf tickled his nose.

And oh, what a sweet smell it was! Finnick had never thought he'd be so happy to scent sickness and death! And was that... Blood?! Metallic, delicious-smelling, mouth-watering - Yes!  His heart soared with joy at the revelation, and he could've sworn his stomach had flipped and danced in celebration with him.

Weight lifted, the lavender-like wolf sprang into a trot, his bounced steps lighter than air, his tail flagging out behind him, and his mind focused on nothing but the trail and the daydreams of a full belly.

And then, there it was.
A scraggly mess of bones and skin.

The sheep had died of disease, even from lengths away Finnick could smell as much, as well as the stench of fox mingled with the delectable flesh. The meat was all but gone, ravaged by the vuples, leaving nothing beyond a single, gangly thigh.
Finnick was too hungry to care - a starved-thin thigh was more than he'd had since he'd fled Skyguard, and regardless, if he hesitated any longer one of the scavengers might return; then the youth would be empty-bellied for another day.

So without another thought, the male bolted forward, all senses blind to anything but the heart-thumping anticipation of meat on his tongue.