Sleepy Fox Hollow To the house in the pines where the road ends

He seemed to have nothing to say about her report, leaving Wylla to feel even more unsure of herself. Had she done an unsatisfactory job, or was he simply angry enough with her to not acknowledge her? Maybe she'd misunderstood the task laid before her. Maybe what he'd intended was for her to leave and never return from it; but, no, she refused to allow herself to be stung by an assumption. It wasn't like her to be self-conscious or ashamed of herself and she would hate to let him see it in the subtle way her jowls stiffened.

Only for her lips to part moments later to protest—sure, she was hungry and wanted to snatch that bit of meat away from him, but she was capable of hunting for herself. Surely someone else in the pack needed it more than she did. When she was younger and led Grimnismal, she would have demanded it for herself, but now she knew how to quell those selfish desires when it counted most. A quick glance upward was enough to know he wouldn't take no for an answer, and she shut her mouth with a click.

Fine, she acquiesced, bending to grasp the remaining hare in hungry jaws that wasted no time crushing the bones and flesh alike. Fu-huck, she thought, for was there anything as euphoric as food when you were starving? She forgot his presence for a few minutes as she polished off what remained of his kill; only when it was done and she was licking her chops did she glance at him again, sheepish for her ravenous manner, but anxious enough still about what he would do or say next to form any words.